Precipitate
by Actus Reus
Summary: Harry is a nobody: he has no fortune, no connections, no parents. He doesn’t excel in his studies, nor is he talented in Quidditch. There is nothing about him that would cause anyone to give him a second glance. Until he’s bitten by a vampire. LV/HP.
1. Precipitate 1

Title: Precipitate

Summary: Harry is a nobody: he has no fortune, no connections, no parents. He doesn't excel in his studies, nor is he talented in Quidditch. In short, there is nothing about him that would cause anyone to give him a second glance. Until he's bitten by a vampire.

Pairing: LVHP

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe was created by J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made by this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

~ Chapter 1

"Oof," said the boy that Harry bumped into "watch it, will you?"

He flicked Harry an irritated glare before hurrying off to his class.

"Sorry," Harry trailed off, "even though you probably can't hear me now…"

He grabbed his fallen bag and continued into his Transfiguration class and took his seat at the back.

"Now class, I hope you have all had a nice summer. Please hand in your summer homework at the end of the lesson. We will begin by reviewing some concepts that you learned in first year. Who can tell me what a switching spell does? Mr. Potter?"

Harry froze. He stared at Professor McGonagall.

She made a disapproving tutting sound before moving on. "Since Mr. Potter cannot enlighten us, we shall have to ask… Yes, Mr. Boot?"

"A switching spell is a spell that swaps one thing for another." Terry Boot cast a disdainful look his way. Harry was used to it by now.

"Well done Mr. Boot. Mr. Potter, I hope you are paying attention. Moving on…"

xxxxxx

That night, Harry poked at his dinner. The food was wonderful, as always, but he couldn't muster up much of an appetite.

Sometimes, he wondered why he had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Unlike his housemates, he didn't get particularly good marks in his classes – nor did he perform well in Flying with Hooch. He didn't have a fortune or a claim to an exalted magical lineage. He wasn't really funny or charming and he didn't think he was handsome either.

He didn't grow up in the magical world and he was rather quiet so he didn't really have a common topic of conversation with the purebloods or half-bloods and he was too shy to initiate conversation with the muggleborns. In short, Harry Potter didn't really have any friends.

Being at Hogwarts was infinitely preferable to the Dursleys but sometimes Harry wondered if the Dursleys were right all along; maybe he was really a bit of a good-for-nothing.

More than a little depressed at the thought, he jabbed at his squash a few more times before sighing and leaving the table. Most of the other students were still eating but they didn't notice him leaving and no one bothered to acknowledge him.

As there was still quite a while before curfew, Harry wandered out to the grounds for a walk around the lake.

The September night air had a bit of a bite and he was glad for his school cloak. Walking slowly, he skirted closer to the lake when his walk took him close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed some movement. He stilled and fingered his wand.

Senses alert, he didn't hear or see anything unusual and after a moment, he began to walk briskly back to the school.

He screamed when he felt hands grip him and teeth sink into the flesh of his neck.

Terrified, he thought hysterically that he was going to die.

Everything went black.

xxxxxx

Harry woke to a sudden painful burning in his body. It felt like his blood had turned to liquid fire in his veins and coursed through him spitefully. He had to grind his teeth together until his head ached to prevent himself from screaming.

Just as quickly as the pain arrived, it ended just as abruptly and left Harry gasping and blinking moisture from his eyes in its wake.

Groaning, he took stock of his surroundings. He was sprawled by the edge of the lake by the forest and it was still dark. It seemed that not much time had passed; although his housemates barely acknowledged him, he felt fairly sure that someone would have noticed if he had gone missing for a day or more.

Wincing, he found that he could move his arms and legs but trying to move his head was excruciating. He touched a hand briefly to his neck and hissed at the pain.

Suddenly, Harry processed what had happened. He had somehow managed to survive a vampire bite.

He choked out a laugh and felt exhilaration sweep through him. This was incredible. Vampire bites were notorious for having a very low survival rate – especially if the victim wasn't rushed to a Healer quickly. This was partly due to the weakened state that the victim was left in from extreme blood loss and partly due to the stress that vampire venom placed on the body. The survival rate of untreated victims was less than one in ten, even Harry knew that.

Feeling elated and incredibly lucky, Harry made a sudden decision to make something more of his life than he had so far. He had allowed himself to wallow in mediocrity but his brush with death filled him with a determination and ambition that he had never before experienced.

xxxxxx

He managed the long painful walk back to his bed after casting a cleaning charm on himself and his robes. Thankfully, none of the other boys sharing his second year dorm had returned yet.

The wound on his neck had already completely healed without a trace and he felt no more physical discomfort from his ordeal. He poked at the small and dainty fangs on the tips of his incisors.

_I suppose I'm a vampire now_, he thought to himself. In that moment of realization, Harry also felt an incredible loneliness. He became keenly aware of his lack of friends and sighed bitterly. _This is just what I needed, yet another 'weird' trait to set me apart._

He knew that vampires weren't considered "wizards" but "beings". _Will they kick me out of Hogwarts for this?_ He grasped his sheets in panic. _Where will I go if I have to leave Howarts? I can't – I'm _not_ going back to the Dursleys like this; they'd throw me out the moment they found out. I wouldn't be able to go out in the sunlight anyway so I can't attend my classes. Maybe I'd be a menace because I'd go around biting everyone. I might even… kill people_. Harry blanched at the thought.

His mind worked furiously as he continued to think. _There are so many big windows in Ravenclaw – I might even die by tomorrow morning from exposure. But if I make it through tomorrow without dying or biting anyone, I might be able hide it from everybody. I could drink blood from animals or something._ He groaned._ I need to find out more about vampires._

He paused. If he did die by tomorrow morning then one of his most serious concerns – that he would be a danger to the other students and be killed for it – would solved, sort of. Assuming that he didn't bite anyone tonight, no innocent kids would die as a result of his vampirism.

Resolute, Harry waited anxiously as Boot, McDougal, and Entwhistle returned to the dormitories. Harry risked opening his curtains to peek out at the others. He even challenged himself to stare at their necks, when possible, before retreating and closing his curtains again.

Soon enough, he began to hear light snores and he heaved a massive sigh of relief. He hadn't even been remotely tempted.

xxxxxx

As he couldn't sleep the whole night, he spent it reading his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. _One perk of being a vampire_, Harry thought to himself, _is being able to concentrate for such a long period of time_. He had trouble focusing on his work in the past but he'd had no problems staying on task for the past several hours without taking a single break. _If I make it through the morning alive, I'm going to read all the books that I should've read and learn more about everything._

As he'd hoped, he learned more about vampires in his readings even though the information wasn't particularly cheery. They were classified as "beings" along with werewolves, goblins, and house-elves under the Ministry's _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans_ and the language was very similar – though perhaps a touch less harsh – to the description for werewolves. Harry surmised that it was likely that vampires were discriminated in a similar fashion as werewolves thought he'd never really paid any attention to the issue before. Thankfully, paragraph 12 – _very, very short_, he thought – of the _Guidelines_ specified that it was illegal to exterminate vampires in attempts at genocide. _Well,_ he though with a snort, _that's reassuring_.

Vampires did drink blood but they quite delighted in eating garlic and, oddly enough, purchasing things in the shapes of crosses. They could be killed by dismemberment and burning, a stake through the heart, or exposure to sunlight.

_Well, that solves that then_, Harry thought to himself. He closed his book and clasped his hands as the first rays of light began to peek over the horizon and into the window above his headboard.

Though he waited patiently, nothing appeared to happen. Apprehensively, he wondered if he needed to be in more direct contact with the light. He plastered his right hand onto the window pane and braced himself. Nothing happened. The sun had already risen and there were very few clouds in the sky. He raised himself so that he was at face level with the window. Again, nothing.

Not really sure what was happening, Harry wondered if the book had been mistaken. As far as he could tell, he was a vampire. He'd experimented with cutting himself and, as expected, the wound had healed immediately and seamlessly. He also found that his strength and senses had improved, as the book had described – in fact, he'd noticed that he was able to read much faster than he had previously.

"Maybe I'm a weird freak version," Harry muttered to himself.

Resolving himself to simply accepting his continued existence, he readied himself for the day.

xxxxxx

He had been surprised when he'd been able to eat the food at breakfast as if nothing had changed. The pumpkin juice, toast, and bacon still tasted just as delicious as ever; Harry had been expecting them to 'taste like ash in his mouth' according to the book. _Maybe the author was being dramatic?_ He wondered. _It's not as if I can ask someone either – 'Hi Madam Pomfrey, I just turned into a dangerous creature that's harmful to children. Can you please tell me when I need to suck your blood? I haven't had any cravings so far and I wanted to know when I'd go berserk so that I could add that to my social calendar.'_ He snorted. _Yeah, right_. He trailed behind the other students after breakfast but managed to make it to Herbology in time.

Professor Sprout first handed out earmuffs to the class before she introduced them to their project for the year: mandrakes.

"Now, I want everyone to stand in front of a pot. No, no, don't touch it yet Mr. Corner! Good. Who can tell me about mandrakes? Miss Turpin?"

"Mandrakes are also known by the name mandragora. They are a plant with many magical properties and are used in many potions but their cry is lethal to all who hear it. Is this why we have earmuffs, professor?"

"Yes, that is why we have earmuffs. Well done Miss Turpin, 5 points to Ravenclaw."

Lisa Turpin flashed everyone a smug smile.

"Mandrakes are indeed used in a variety of potions but only the cry of a fully matured mandrake is fatal. These mandrakes are still babies and they won't be fully mature until they start moving into each other's pots. However, even a baby's cry is strong enough to knock you out for several hours."

After Professor Sprout was satisfied that everyone had understood the seriousness of the work and had secured their earmuffs, she ordered everyone to take the mandrakes out of their temporary pots and to re-pot them into the larger terracotta ones that she had ordered.

While many of the students struggled with uprooting the plants – many of them were sleepy and strongly protested against being moved – Harry's newfound strength easily overcame his mandrake's thrashing. Grasping the plant firmly by the stalks, he peered at the root curiously; the root part of the plant really did look like a human baby, albeit a very ugly one. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

As he was about to put the mandrake down into its new home, he noticed that it's movements were becoming more sluggish and its cries – which he could hear muffled through his earmuffs – were becoming dimmer. Frowning, he noticed that where his bare hand touched the plant, the stalk was changing from a vivid green to a yellowish colour and slowly spreading towards the leaves and, Harry assumed, to the root as well judging by the slight shrivelling. He quickly plopped the mandrake into the hole that he had dug in the new pot and was disturbed to find that plant quickly recovering: the leaves lost their wilted quality and the stalks regained their healthy green colour. The pot began to shake as well – a sure sign that the mandrake was energetic.

Frowning again, he covered the root with soil. Was this an obscure vampire trait? He stared at his hands until the end of the lesson.

xxxxxx

Over the next few weeks, he spent all his free time in the library. As a Ravenclaw his constant presence wasn't questioned during the day and since he seemed to have lost his ability to sleep, he also spent his nights there. He had to be extra careful not to trip any alarms and to be very quiet but he'd managed to avoid trouble so far.

Somehow, he could always tell where people were. On the first night he'd heard a noise and had tensed, thinking that it might be Mrs. Norris – but somehow, he just _knew_ that Mrs. Norris was prowling down in the dungeons at that moment and no living thing was near the library.

He wasn't sure what to make of his new ability but he didn't bother questioning something so useful to him.

Able to concentrate for many hours without pause and possessing a good rate of retention for information, Harry found himself breezing through a review of all of the first year material in just two days. He covered all the second year material in under a week. By the time that he was halfway through the third year books, Harry decided that perhaps being a vampire was a good thing after all.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello all, I've decided to try my hand at writing a multi-chapter Harry Potter fic. I'll try to keep updates coming at a reasonable pace, notwithstanding real life intrusions. Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	2. Precipitate 2

~ Chapter 2

Charms with the Slytherins were always an ordeal. Although the Ravenclaws tended to get on better with the Slytherins than the other houses, they were certainly not immune to pranking and general assholery.

Sitting at the back of the class, Harry watched as Blaise Zabini tapped his wand onto a paper airplane and threw it at Kevin Entwhistle's head when Professor Flitwick turned his back to find up an apple for a class demonstration.

When he turned around, he almost fell off the stool he was standing on when he saw Kevin Entwhistle running about, surrounded by a mob of whizzing paper airplanes that kept crashing into his head.

Harry smiled into his hand but he could see that his Head of House was not similarly amused.

"_Finite!_" said Professor Flitwick with a frown. "Who is responsible for this? Mr. Entwhistle, do you know?"

Kevin hesitated – he hadn't actually seen who had been throwing the airplanes, but he could easily guess.

"I'm not sure who did it but I know that they came from that side of the room," he pointed at the Slytherins.

Professor Flitwick harrumphed. "Well, anything to say for yourselves? I promise you the punishment will be lighter if you confess. No? Alright. A clever trick to be sure but if you are all so bored of today's topic already I know just the thing to challenge you."

He hopped off his stool and walked behind his desk, where he promptly disappeared behind the tall stacks of parchment.

"Aha! Here we are," he said, returning to the front of his desk with a stack of parchment in his hands. "A surprise test is in order, I think."

A collective groan went up.

"No complaints. This is a fair way to evaluate your understanding of the material. And, to discourage pranking for the future, the other second years will be taking another version of this test as well and I will be sure to mention that it is administered because of rowdy behaviour from you."

Harry watched as the Slytherins shrank into their seats. Professor Flitwick had a reputation as one of the more lenient professors; clearly, he wasn't in the mood for mercy today.

Once he finished handing out all the papers, Professor Flitwick gave the signal to begin.

Harry flipped over the parchment and began reading. Very quickly, his anxiousness left him.

No longer needing to sleep meant that Harry could spend upwards of fifteen hours a day studying in the library. Although he had gone through the second year material at a fair pace, he found, for the very first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, that he had no trouble answering any of the questions on the test. He had to bite onto the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from grinning like a fool; he was so incredibly satisfied at being able to excel. For once, he really felt like a Ravenclaw.

xxxxxx

Everyone knew that the top student in second year was Hermione Granger, a bossy muggleborn who seemed to have been erroneously sorted into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. They also knew that there was a dogfight for second place between Terry Boot and Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin that Harry had never spoken to.

Terry was pretty sensitive about his marks and held court over the other second years in the Ravenclaw common room whenever he did particularly well and tended to sulk and be irritable to everyone when he didn't.

In general, Ravenclaws did well in classes. Except Harry, of course. His performance was always decidedly middling. He believed it to be a big reason for his ostracism. In Ravenclaw, even if you were a bit strange, if you got good marks, there would always be someone willing to talk to you.

So Harry was very eager to rush to his next Charms class, where Professor Flitwick would announce the results of test to the class. He couldn't wait to see the reaction of his housemates –who, along with his professors, had come to view him as a bit slow – once they heard the results. Harry arrived to the class at the same time Professor Flitwick did. His Head of House had patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him on his performance.

Harry could tell that Professor Flitwick had been a little worried for him and seemed relieved that he was paying more attention to his studies. As he took his seat, he quashed the voice in his head that said: _But not worried enough to do anything about it or to talk to you._

By performing well on the test, Harry felt vindicated. It was like an affirmation of his right to be in Ravenclaw and to be in Hogwarts. It wouldn't hurt if it got him a few people to talk too as well.

At the end of the class, Professor Flitwick made his announcement.

"I have marked your test papers from our previous class and I am handing them back now. Overall, you didn't do too badly – but not well enough to be causing a ruckus and ignoring a lesson," he stared pointedly at the Slytherins. "The top marks overall were earned by Mr. Potter, who has clearly read ahead, followed by Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger from Gryffindor. Alright, class dismissed."

Harry couldn't help flushing when several Ravenclaws turned to look at him. The Slytherins had never heard of him before and occupied their time either patting Draco in consolation or ignoring everything in favour of packing their bags.

Keeping his head down and allowing his long messy hair cover his face, he tried to leave class as unobtrusively as possible.

"Ah!" He cried when he felt someone shove into him. He accidentally stepped onto the inside of his too-large robes as he tried to regain steady footing and ended up falling down.

"Look here mudblood. I don't know how you managed to cheat under Flitwick's eye but I'm going to find out – and when I catch you, it's not going to be pretty – even if we are in the same house. So stop giving Ravenclaws a bad name, yeah?" Terry Boot sneered at him before storming off, Lisa Turpin and Morag McDougal rushing to catch up. The Slytherins snickered at him as they walked past and the other Ravenclaws pretended not to see anything. No one offered to help him up. The students quickly dispersed for dinner.

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes and picked himself up.

_Well, that didn't quite go according to plan_, he thought bitterly to himself.

Dusting himself off, he clenched his hands tightly in an effort to prevent his frustration, embarrassment and anger from welling up and causing a scene, and marched towards the main doors for a walk. Fresh air would be good to clear his head.

xxxxxx

By the time that Harry arrived at the edge of the lake, he had walked off his more volatile emotions by ranting in his head.

It had been naïve of him to assume that just performing well on one test would be enough to open the way to social acceptance. Firstly, why did he want to be friends with people who had ignored and shunned him in the first place? Case in point: when he had fallen down in the hall, had anyone extended a hand to help? Not at all. Not even Mandy Brocklehurst, whom Harry had always believed to be one of the nicer Ravenclaws. Secondly, what was the point of gaining a few flimsy friendships anyway? Even Harry had noticed that his housemates didn't form loyal groups; people were constantly sniping at each other when they had the chance. And finally, what had possessed him to perform at the best of his ability on that test? It would only draw unnecessary attention to him from other students and, more importantly, the faculty. It was like he had developed temporary idiot syndrome and had forgotten that he was a vampire. It wouldn't be too hard for others to figure it out if they were watching him more closely.

_Any way I look at it, it was a terrible move_.

He let out a frustrated groan and mussed his hair before slumping bonelessly next to the water.

In fact, other than the OWLs and the NEWTs, doing spectacularly well on regular school tests didn't matter too much. Assuming that he continued to maintain a lacklustre performance record, he would be safe from expulsion and also safe from further harassment. He just had to make sure that he continued to study the material well – after all, he could use quizzes to test his understanding of the material, he just had to purposefully write some wrong answers – and perform to the best of his ability on his OWLs and NEWTs. _Almost dying and becoming a vampire has done incredible things for my sense of motivation, _he thought with a smile.

Plan firmly in mind, he picked absentmindedly on a frayed edge of his school robe.

He had been orphaned when he was a baby and had been sent to live with his closest living relatives, the Dursleys. When he'd received his Hogwarts letter, he'd been ecstatic but the Dursleys didn't want anything to do with it. They had refused to let him attend for several weeks until he begged and pleaded them into agreeing. However, they had refused to support him in any way – including paying for his school supplies. Since his parents had left him with nothing – "They were horrible drunks and had massive debts; we sold everything to pay it off. Be grateful we didn't sell _you_!" – it was almost the same as refusing to let Harry attend.

He remembered panicking about how he would communicate his situation to Hogwarts deep into the night inside his tiny cupboard under the stairs until, like magic, his wishes were answered and one of the spiders transformed into a small owl. He had remembered that all his Hogwarts letters had arrived via owls and had scribbled onto a scrap piece of paper a note about his lack of money.

Eventually, he'd received a response from Hogwarts. Apparently, there was a fund set aside of such cases as his and, though modest, it was enough to see him through his schooling. Although it meant using second hand books and robes – hence it was a few sizes too large on him – Harry didn't really mind. To him, being at Hogwarts was the most important thing.

xxxxxx

He hadn't realized how much time had passed while he was daydreaming but he guessed that he had probably missed dinner. He wasn't too worried though. After reading _Hogwarts: A History_, he knew that he would be able to get something to eat if he could find one of the house elves and his knack for knowing everyone's location seemed to extend to house elves as well.

At that moment, that same sense told him that someone was approaching him.

He leapt to his feet with his wand in hand and whipped his head around, trying to see who it was. The 'feel' of the person was unfamiliar and definitely not someone from Hogwarts.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clamp over his mouth.

Immediately he began struggling. He tried to tug off the hand and stomp and kick and bite. He twisted and thrashed. But even with his newfound strength, he couldn't budge his attacker. That meant… it was a vampire?

"Shhh," a voice said into his ear.

_Who the hell who listen to that!_

"I don't mean you any harm, I promise. I just want to talk."

Harry stilled and stopped struggling for a moment.

"If I remove my hand now, will you promise not to scream or curse me?"

_Oh, what am I doing…_ Harry nodded.

The hand slowly lifted from his mouth and the body that had been hunched around his much smaller form, slowly eased away. Harry turned, with no small amount of trepidation.

He was met with a very tall man with an austere but handsome face. His hair was black like his eyes and his skin was very, very white. _Vampire_.

Harry recoiled a little when the saw the man's arm move but he merely touched it to his heart and executed a very deep bow.

"My name is Sanguini and I apologize for the offense, my lord. Before I begin, might I suggest we move a little closer to the forest? Standing out in the open may not be very good for my continued existence should I be found out."

More than a little mystified, he nodded and followed the man a few steps so that they were standing in the shade of the Forbidden forest.

"As you may have surmised, I am a vampire. The same vampire who bit you the other evening."

Harry hissed is surprise and leapt back a little, tensed up.

Sanguini held his hands up in a signal of surrender, "I apologize for the pain that it no doubt caused you – but it had to be done. Your mother had suppressed your vampirism as a baby and I needed to bite you to reawaken your vampiric traits. I promise that I drew no blood from you."

"My mother?" He was still wary and distrustful but Harry couldn't help but be hooked by the subject. He didn't even have a single picture of his parents.

"Yes, she was the last living pureblood in Britain after your grandfather killed himself. I think she attended Hogwarts as well, didn't anyone tell you? Your father did too."

Harry couldn't help it – he stared at Sanguini with his green eyes opened impossibly wide and his mouth opened in a small "O" of surprise. Not one of his professors had ever mentioned that they knew his parents.

"She left the vampires and hid herself very carefully in the human realm but she turned James Potter before conceiving you. This makes you the last Pureblood in Britain and, effectively, my king."

_What?_

"I'm sure that you have many questions but it is very dangerous for both of us if I continue to lurk on Hogwarts' grounds. I have been watching you for some time. Can you sneak out of the cupboard during the summer?"

Still processing what he had learned, Harry nodded dumbly.

"Excellent. I will meet you during the summer; sneak out of the house on the evening of the first night that you return in June. Until then, do not let anyone discover that you are a vampire; I shudder to think of the consequences if they discover that you are a pureblood. As you may have noticed, as a pureblood, you don't burn in the sun and you do not need blood for sustenance, though it will make you stronger than you are now."

Sanguini, knelt in front of him and clasped his shoulders. "My lord, please promise me that you will do nothing to draw attention to yourself. This is absolutely critical. Do you promise?"

Harry nodded.

Sanguini let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Now, before I go, would you like to drink my blood? It is customary for purebloods to drink from other vampires than directly from humans. Doing so will make you much stronger but I also fear that your increased strength may draw attention to you. But I cannot trespass on the sanctity of this decision; you must be the one to make it."

Putting his other thoughts aside for a moment, Harry thought about the consequences. If he did become much stronger and faster, like Sanguini, then it was more likely that others would find him out. However, if he was attacked, being stronger and faster would only help him.

Finally, Harry shook his head. "No, I won't drink from you right now." He wasn't planning on drawing any attention to himself anyway. Who would bother attacking a nobody?

"Alright," Sanguini said as he rose to his feet. He executed another deep bow and walked backwards a few steps before he began to turn away.

"Wait! How did my parents die? Do you know?"

Sanguini turned back. "Although I have my suspicions, I do not truly know. Until next time, my lord." He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

* * *

Author's Note: Had some free time (very rare) so I wrote the next chapter. I've plotted out the story already and I use it as motivation to write individual chapters. I'm going to have a lot of fun with clichés in this story, though I'll try to put them together in hopefully interesting ways. Please note that this is not beta'd by anyone but me.


	3. Precipitate 3

~ Chapter 3

The light from five large chandeliers glittered on the intricately laid wood floor, the gold gilding on the walls, and shining crystal and silver on the long dining table.

Guests were dressed in heavy and expensive fabrics; most of them had heavy signet rings on their fingers. The men wore conservatively coloured robes with high necks and discrete embroidery that displayed the livery and insignias of their houses. The women dressed in similarly courtly rwaobes but often in more lively colours that showed some décolletage.

There was a balcony in the room where a chamber orchestra was playing some light music as the guests milled about with aperitifs in hand.

The center of attention stood at the grand entryway into the dining room and welcomed new guests as they arrived, who were heralded by a crier.

"The Lord and Lady Malfoy and their son Draco Malfoy."

The Malfoys made their way into the dining room to greet Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort, the youngest ever Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

As they bowed deeply, Lord Voldemort spoke. "Lucius and Narcissa, welcome to my home. I see you have brought young Draco."

"My Lord Riddle, we're honoured to be invited. We bring our best wishes for you on your thirty-fifth birthday," said Draco, only barely stuttering.

"What a precocious boy," said Riddle with a curl of his lips.

The Malfoys smiled.

"Come Draco, let's put Lord Riddle's present with the others and introduce you to the other children." Narcissa led Draco away.

"Glad you could attend Lucius."

"Was there any doubt, my lord? I see that Fudge has yet to arrive, though that is perhaps not a surprise; with his recent unpopularity, he's been hiding behind Dumbledore's skirts and there is no question that the old man would turn him against you. Have you heard that Dumbledore will be approaching Nicolas Flamel in the near future? Are you going to take any action?"

"My dear Lucius," Riddle said, drawing him to the table as the chime sounded for dinner, "I make it a point never to interrupt my enemies when they are making a mistake."

xxxxxx

"The world is becoming a darker place, old friend."

"After living as long as I have, I'd like to believe that the light will prevail in the end, you'll see," said Flamel, taking a sip of his tea.

"I share your hopes Nicolas but I cannot help but be disturbed by some of the powerful forces that are trying to bring down our world."

"You mean Lord Voldemort?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. When I resigned my position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to focus more on the International Wizarding Federation and on Hogwarts, I had no idea that he would grasp control so quickly and so decisively – and at such a young age, only thirty years old! Wizarding politics in Britain have been known for fractured political groups for the past five hundred years. It is not often that we have ever stood united, except in the darkest hours of war or strife. I had no idea that Riddle would be able to unify most of the Wizengamot, all powerful wizards and witches with strong convictions, within three years and all under his banner. No, I did not foresee that he would be able to do what even I could not. Hubris and old age, perhaps. And now, regret."

"Do not be so hard on yourself Albus. He has yet to make an overt move against us or the principles that we stand for."

"Not publicly, not yet. But one only has to look at his political platform – all pureblood and segregationist nonsense – to know what is in store for the future. Already I hear whisperings. But what is more disturbing is his magic. Oh, you do not know the horrors Nicolas!"

Flamel gripped his teacup. "What is it? He is a known dark wizard but he wouldn't – I mean, I have heard no word –"

"But he has. He has dabbled in the darkest arts my friend, all for the purpose of discovering immortality. I fear that he may try to target you and Perenelle next. My friend, I cannot express my sorrow at the counsel I am about to give you but I beg you to heed my advice…"

xxxxxx

After speaking with Sanguini, Harry had so many unanswered questions! Just who were his parents? Apparently, they weren't Muggles like the Dursleys had claimed. Who were his grandparents? Why did his grandfather kill himself? What was a pureblood vampire? Harry had tried looking through a few books but none of them mentioned the word.

Although Sanuini had promised to meet him in the summer, Harry still wished that he had kept the vampire longer so that he could ask him more about his parents and his heritage.

It wasn't all a loss though. His frustration was balanced in equal measure by his excitement. Although there was no outward change, he was still the messy haired boy who slouched too much and did poorly in class, he was bubbling inside. Harry had always felt adrift and disconnected but news about his parents and the implication that he was a member of a larger community – _even if they're all vampires_, he thought – anchored him.

To fend off his flurry of fruitless thoughts and speculations, he threw himself into his studying.

Harry's studying had slowed down significantly once he'd reached the fourth year material. The spells were more difficult and there was a lot more theory to study. He found that in order to really study the material, he had to practise it and the library wasn't the best place for shooting stray spells.

But he'd get many suspicious looks if he tried to sign out upper year books and he'd trip the alarms if he tried to take them out after hours. It would also decrease his chance of getting into trouble if he spent less time in the library while it was closed. Besides, he wanted to bring as many books as possible with him in the summer so that he would be bored out of his mind.

The problem niggled at him for an afternoon before he thought of a solution. Why couldn't he just copy the books he wanted from the library and take it wherever he needed to?

He found the spell he needed in the library that night. He had already learned a shrinking charm and a feather weight charm from his readings.

After a few false starts and a few wasted pages, he got the spell to work and began copying The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. Very quickly, the spell finished. Delighted at how little time the process took, Harry began to pull books rather enthusiastically from the shelves. It was fortunate that he had really stocked up on his supply of parchment before arriving at the school and that the library sold parchment, ink, and quills to students; when he ran out, he could always buy more.

xxxxxx

Harry snuck back into his bed before dawn and continued his reading until he heard the other boys stirring. Already dressed, Harry left for the Great Hall before any of the others and enjoyed the Christmas decorations as he walked downstairs.

He helped himself to toast and bacon as the other students trickled in; it was a Saturday so there were few students who would bother to trek down for breakfast. As he munched on his toast, the morning post came and delivered personal mail and the Daily Prophet to those who had a subscription.

Harry was calmly drinking his pumpkin juice when he heard and upper year Ravenclaw exclaim loudly to her friends.

"Look at this! I can't believe it, 'famed alchemist Nicolas Flamel died yesterday in his Devonshire home with his wife Perenelle Flamel after settling their affairs'. I wanted to apprentice myself to him once I graduated. What am I going to do now?" she wailed.

Harry ate very slowly and waited patiently until the grumbling Ravenclaw and her friends left the Great Hall. They conveniently left the paper sitting on the table and he didn't hesitate in snatching it up.

Harry had never read the Daily Prophet or any other wizarding magazine or paper and didn't know very much about the wizarding world. In fact, he thought to himself with a bit of surprise, the closest thing he'd read about the wizarding world was _Hogwarts: A History_. It had never occurred to him to study anything but spells and magic. He frowned to himself. That was very silly of him. If he wanted to continue to live in the magical world once he graduated – oh how he wanted to – then he'd better brush up on his knowledge of it now. He wouldn't be able to filch a copy of the Prophet everyday but he knew that the library had a subscription and also had a collection of back issues. He was also certain that there were entire sections of the library devoted to magical history, government, and geography; unfortunately, he had never stepped foot there except to get school books on goblin wars, but that was going to change.

The front page of the Prophet was split into two. The bottom half reported the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone and the death of Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist who had created Stone. _I wonder what that is? _Harry decided to look it up later. It also said that Flamel had worked with Albus Dumbledore; Harry flicked his eyes up to the Head Table but the Headmaster was nowhere to be seen. The top half of the page had a picture of a very handsome man who had a half smile as the well dressed witches and wizards around him sent him adoring looks. "Lord Voldemort celebrates birthday!" the headline proclaimed.

He read the article quickly. Apparently, Lord Voldemort was the youngest Chief Warlock of something called the Wizengamot, which sounded very important. Unfortunately, the article spent a great deal of time speculating on his wealth and his status as a bachelor and didn't report too much else.

Harry couldn't believe how much he didn't know. As he skimmed the rest of the paper, he constantly hit names and terms that he was unfamiliar with and seemingly common facts that he didn't know. _I have a lot of catching up to do_, he thought to himself, a little appalled, as he left the Great Hall and headed for the library.

As he approached the stairs, he saw Draco Malfoy and his goons push a small boy down. Slowing his steps, he hid behind a pillar in an effort to keep attention away from himself and to watch what was happening.

"Good god Crevey, how old are you? Why are you carrying around a copy of Fantastic Fables? Do you have The Tales of Beedle the Bard too?"

Harry frowned as Draco taunted Creevey about having a copy of what appeared to be children's stories.

"Hey you lot! What are you doing?"

Harry quickly cast a Disillusionment charm on himself as Percy Weasley, a Prefect, came running down the stairs. Draco and his gang ran away before Percy could get a good look at them.

Harry waited until he saw that Percy was helping Creevey to his feet before he continued onwards toward the library. He hadn't known that wizards had fables but he looked forward to reading them.

xxxxxx

"The library is closing in 15 minutes. Please prepare to leave." Madam Pince's voice cut through his concentration.

Harry sat back in his chair and let out a whoosh. He looked around and by the quiet growl of his stomach, he had clearly missed dinner. He blinked owlishly at the stacks of books surrounding him.

He had no idea that he was missing such fundamental knowledge about the wizarding world! Granted, he'd had very limited exposure: he lived with the most anti-magical family in Little Whinging during the summer and had only ever been to Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and Platform Nine and Three Quarters. In addition of the Ministry and Hogsmeade, he had thought that he had a good estimate of the size of wizarding Britain.

How wrong he had been! His estimation that the total population hovered somewhere around ten or twenty thousand was so far off target, he might as well have pulled it out of a hat. Not only were there many, many more purely magical areas in Britain than he'd thought*, the actual British magical population was much closer to 5 million! In fact, approximately five to ten percent of the world's population were witches or wizards or other magical folk**.

He had always appreciated his opportunity to attend Hogwarts but it was only now that he knew just how special the opportunity was. There were very few wizarding schools like Hogwarts in Europe because most wizards were unable to cast the spells taught after 3rd year. He did a quick calculation. Hogwarts had perhaps three hundred students altogether, the top three hundred children of power in all magical Britain. Suddenly Neville Longbottom no longer seemed as incompetent.

People like McGonagall, a Transfiguration master, Flitwick, a duelling champion, and Snape, a world renowned Potions master, stood at the pinnacle of magical talent. For the first time, Harry understood why Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Lord Voldemort – if rumours of his magical ability were to be believed – were held in such awe; the level of magical power they possessed was literally one in a million, or even more. Harry understood now why British purebloods, whose members were almost all educated in wizarding schools like Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, were held in such regard: not only were they rich, they all tended to be magically powerful.

And the Wizengamot! Harry couldn't help the blush that sprung to his cheeks at the thought that he didn't even known about the British wizarding equivalent of Parliament and the House of Lords. Before tonight, he'd had no idea how the Ministry was structured or how law was carried out; he didn't even know what an Auror was.

Unlike the muggle counterpart, the Wizengamot had fifty seats with representatives from the oldest and most powerful pureblood houses including the Snapes, the Blacks, the Malfoys – _no wonder Draco Malfoy acts like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth_, Harry snorted. It made Tom Marvolo Riddle, a wizard who advocated a 'return to the old ways', all the more impressive. Not only was he one of the youngest members of the Wizengamot, he was the youngest ever to have been elected as Chief Warlock and, according to recent laws and decisions that were passed, Harry surmised that he controlled the rest of the members with an iron fist. In all the votes since his election, all the bills that passed were bills that he advocated and they always passed by a landslide; compared to previous Wizengamot decisions that passed by a margin of one or two votes, Harry felt that Lord Voldemort's power was clear.

Harry put the books away and signed out The Tales of Beedle the Bard and Fantastic Fables as Madam Pince gave the last call. He'd read them during his breaks from practising the Summoning spell in an unused classroom tonight.

xxxxxx

Harry watched in satisfaction as the book sailed across the room and smacked into his outstretched hand. He'd had to give it a few tries, but it seemed like he was back on track with his studies. As soon as he'd been able to actually practise the spells, the pace at which he went through the fourth year books had picked up. He checked off _Accio_ from the list of things that he'd wanted to accomplish by the end of the week and decided to take a brief break by reading the books that he'd signed out earlier.

By Malfoy's earlier taunts, Harry was expecting the books to be full of fluff but they were actually quite interesting and in some cases, even a little disturbing.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard had several stories that were rather dark and gruesome – Harry shuddered at the story of the Hairy Heart. The Fantastic Fables seemed to be a collection of stories from folklore. Harry particularly enjoyed the entertaining tales about Tir Na Nog, Mag Mell, and Ablach. But it was the story that described the magical world's understanding of magic that most enchanted him.

According to the story, magic was like a balanced life stream. When a wizard or witch was born, a part of the life stream existed within them. When they died, their 'essence' rejoined the life stream and the ambient magic in the world. A sort of consciousness was retained within the life stream; that was the reason why wizards have the ability to call up spirits or 'shades' and commune with the dead.

However, over time, the life stream is polluted by too many wizards and witches who have irrevocably altered their existence. For example: wizards who cast Aveda Kedavra exchange a guaranteed death for the unmarred state of their soul; after they successfully kill their target, they 'wrinkle' their soul and the caster cannot be wholly absorbed by the life stream upon their death. As well, there are wizards who do not return to the life stream at all. Some wizards do not truly die and stay in the world as ghosts, this causes am imbalance between life and death.

This pollution in magic decreases its effectiveness. "What miracles we could perform have been lost with time. No wizards alive today can sink an island or fell a mountain," said the old man in the story. The fable stated that a child would be born to wizard kind who would be the embodiment of magic and act as a balance between life and death. His existence would purge the impurities in magic that have accumulated over the years and his awakening would herald a return to the old ways. _Maybe it's Lord Voldemort_, he thought with a chuckle. Harry had never thought much on the nature of magic before but the story caught his imagination.

* * *

* Although there are several magical communities that live side-by-side with muggles (like the town of Ottery St. Catchpole) there are also many purely magical areas. Famous shopping district Diagon Alley is one example. Others include unplottable magical territories like Rose Hill, Lyonesse, the Stony Isles, and Cockaigne.

** The exact population depends on the region of the world. Mainland Europe was notorious for large magical communities whilst countries like Canada were also known for very small ones.

* * *

Author's Note: Haha, I can't seem to stop writing chapters! As I mentioned, I've already plotted out the story so it's just a matter of writing it all out; every time I write a point that I plotted, I would check it off my list. Ah, I'm just a compulsive list-checker. *Shakes head* Well, I'm back to work Monday (this has been a wonderfully free weekend) so I wanted to get as much written with the time that I had.


	4. Precipitate 4

~ Chapter 4

Madam Edgecombe tittered about the latest Ministry gossip with Mafalda Hopkirk as they stepped up to the theatre at midnight. Many other patrons had already arrived and they were all clustered in the foyer as they waited for the signal to enter the theatre to be seated.

Madam Edgecombe eyed the other people in the room, almost exclusively comprised of women, with distaste. "Look at that _awful_ cape she has on. A diamond on her finger and no escort? Ha, it _must_ be a fake – and her makeup is _revolting_; makes her look at _least_ twenty years older." She punctuated her nasally diatribe with frequent and completely unnecessary stresses of her words, causing some bystanders to edge away as they developed an instant headache.

"Oh, you're _tot_ally right; I _abso_lutely agree. Ugh, _terr_ible," said Mafalda, attempting to mimic her friend but coming a bit short.

Edgecombe rolled her eyes. "My _dear_, of _course_ I am right." She looked at Mafalda in dissatisfaction, "By the way, what _is_ that _nauseous_ looking thing you have about your shoulders. It reminds me of drowned _rat_ fur."

Mafalda's hands immediately flew to the soft otter fur stole around her shoulders and clutched it tightly in worry; she had received it as a gift from a rich aunt and it was one of her finest pieces of clothing – something that she would have never been able to afford on her Ministry salary. Privately, she thought spitefully that Edgecombe's robes were a rather revolting shade of magenta but she stayed silent as her friend continued to pick apart her choice of dress for the evening.

Finally the chime sounded and it was with relief as Mafalda walked quickly into the small theatre. Settling into her seat, she squinted in the dim lighting at the playbill. Blodwyn Bludd, a famous bass-baritone singer, was opening the evening with Don Giovanni before delving into several Russian arias.

She sighed happily as he walked on the stage and bowed to the applause. Unlike most performances, there was no glaring spotlight that pointed at him. Instead, the stage was only slightly brighter than the rest of the room and the orchestra was mostly in shadow.

As he sang the first note, Mafalda's eyes began to get droopy and her vision a bit hazy as pleasure tickled down her spine and between her legs. She floated in a haze, she could see nothing but him; her extremities were numb and she couldn't move; her ears could not hear anything but his voice; she could no longer smell the perfume that wafted from Madam Edgecombe; her entire world, consciousness, and senses shrank and consisted entirely of Blodwyn, Blodwyn, Blodwyn.

xxxxxx

Blodwyn Blud wiped his mouth daintily before fixing his neck scarf in front of the mirror. When everything was to his satisfaction, he smiled to himself and watched with amusement as his thick lips revealed his fangs.

He hummed lightly as he thought of this evening's meal. As always, his performances mostly drew women. He wove his thrall into his voice to put his audience into raptures and then, when they were too far gone to notice anything, he would choose a few listeners with particularly weak minds and feed – but only a little from each person so they would not suspect anything. He allowed his orchestra to feed in a similar manner as well.

He sneered as he climbed the stairs in his mansion and thought of them. They were inferior vampires with some musical ability who had pledged to serve under him after the Ministry had cracked down on the old vampire regime. Driven by the aurors and by the law to desperation, many were captured and killed; those who survived were captured for experiments and imprisonment or were left bereft – stripped of their hoarded monies – homeless and jobless. His face twisted with cruel satisfaction as he thought of the previously arrogant vampire nobles who had looked down their noses at him who were now like his dogs. Unlike the other vampires, Blodwyn had no qualms about serving the wizards and adopting a simpering attitude to the Ministry. Unlike them, he had talents that allowed him to survive and flourish in this environment, making him very rich.

And of course, what truly set him apart from the rest was his pet.

He entered the completely dark and windowless room and looked at the figure nailed, chained, and staked to the wall in satisfaction. It was gagged, bound, and blindfolded. Its ears were stuffed with wax and a spell had removed its sense of smell; except for the sense of touch, he had deprived it of all its other major senses. Attached to the body hanging on the wall was a medical contraption that pumped blood from the husk of a comatose Muggle on the floor to it so that it could 'feed'. Blodwyn tisked as he noticed the state of the Muggle and reminded himself that he would need to find another as a replacement soon.

Swinging his crystal wine glass lightly, he walked towards the body on the wall. "Of course, wizards are nothing when compared to you." He stroked its face which now only held a shadow of a memory of its former beauty. There was a small silver object which stuck out of the neck like a faucet. Blodwyn reached for it and turned it, holding his glass underneath the spigot and watched in satisfaction as blood flowed out.

He sighed happily as he drank the blood. "Ah, there's truly no comparison, except perhaps a true pureblood. The secret to my success is you of course, though we shan't tell anyone lest I get into trouble, right?" He giggled madly before sighing. "If only you hadn't spurned me then," he murmured as he left the room, "perhaps I would have been a bit easier on you, my dear Alexandria." He smirked and congratulated himself on his expert 'tapping'.

xxxxxx

Harry trudged down to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner with the staff and the few students who stayed over the holidays. With fewer students in the school and few Ravenclaws to bother him as well as no classes, Harry was free to spend all day in the library and in unused classrooms to practise magic. In the past week, he had made excellent progress and he was able to supplement his learning with other books from the library; he'd found them by looking at the bibliography of the standard school books. In particular, he required lots of extra books on Defence Against the Dark Arts because Professor Lockhart was such an idiot and because he was interested in the subject that the school seemed set on sabotaging for the students. Harry still couldn't think of Quirrel without rolling his eyes; some defence teacher, he couldn't even talk to his students without stuttering in fear. He'd quit after Harry's first year because of "nerves". And now, Dumbledore had hired Lockhart. Surely the Headmaster knew what an incompetent the man was? From what Harry heard, the position had been plagued with useless teachers for the past several years.

Grumbling to himself, he let his eyes wander to the nooks and cranies in the walls. He'd read about a chamber that Slytherin had designed in the school before he had left Hogwarts and Harry had become quite enamoured with the idea. It had become a new habit for him to search for it whenever he wasn't working or eating.

So far, he'd found several little markings that Salazar Slytherin seemed to have left – small engravings or markings of snakes, all in the dungeons – but when Harry had reached out with his magic or had tried to speak to them, a talent that he had discovered as a child, all of them had been inert. They were nothing more than carvings in stone.

The doors to the Great Hall were open and he joined the sole table that was occupied by staff and students alike.

Harry quietly ate his food and kept his head down as conversations buzzed around him. Tonight was the first night that Professor Dumbledore had appeared since the news about Flamel had broken in the Prophet and, as ever, Harry couldn't help but be hyper-aware of the man. The Headmaster's magical energy was kept closely coiled and subdued but Harry could always feel its intensity and the tension that hummed through the air whenever Dumbledore was in the room.

The Headmaster had always seemed to watch him in his first year, though Harry had no idea why, but the man had seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for and no longer paid him any attention whatsoever. Keeping his head down, he gulped down some pumpkin juice and wandered back to the library with a smile after pulling apart his Christmas cracker to find a very basic wand holster and several white mice.

xxxxxx

December soon ended and January and February also whizzed past. Before long, Harry found himself amongst a smaller number of students again for the two week Easter holidays. By that point, Harry was well into fifth year material and he believed that he could finish it up before the exam period to potentially start sixth year readings before he had to leave Hogwarts.

It was already past curfew when he left the library on tiptoes and with a disillusionment charm, eager to go to his customary unused classroom and practise charming legs onto teacups. He would have to wait until tomorrow to go to the owlry and try to transfigure an owl into a pair of opera glasses; hopefully the school owls wouldn't hate him too much when he was through.

He was walking quite calmly when his senses alerted him that several people were quickly approaching. Sure enough, not a second later, he heard a bang and a crash as Peeves whirled around the corner, hotly pursued by Mrs. Norris and Filch, who was yelling obscenities.

Despite his disillusionment charm, Harry immediately entered the first door on his right to duck out of the hallway. He put his ear on the door and was quite waited as the noise faded past.

"Mrrmph. Gimme back my glasses Hornbyyyy."

Harry whipped his head around to try to identify the speaker but he didn't see anyone. His special 'sense' also didn't feel the way it did when there were people around him. Soon enough, he heard a loud snore.

Murmuring a silencing spell on his shoes, Harry crept into what appeared to be a girl's bathroom and towards the noise, which came from one of the open stalls. Gripping his wand tightly, he peered in and saw and girl ghost fast asleep and muttering. Harry stared for a moment before sighing quietly and shaking his head. He snapped his fingers in her face but she continued on snoring.

Walking to a sink with the intent of washing his face, he was about to turn on the tap when he noticed a small snake marking next to the tap. This was particularly surprising because all the other snake markings in the school have been in the dungeons, near where Harry guessed the Slytherin dorms to be. Reaching out with his magic, he let out a slow breath when he realized that the snake reacted.

"_Hello._" He hissed quietly.

The little snake gave a wriggle but was otherwise silent.

Harry frowned. "_Can you understand me?_"

Again, another little wiggle.

"_Is this the entrance to Slytherin's Chamber?_"

Perhaps Harry was only seeing what he wanted to see but he thought that the snake moved more enthusiastically this time.

_How do I get the thing to open up?_ He wondered. _Maybe I should just try asking._

"_If you know how, can you please open up_ –" Harry stopped talking when suddenly, the sink started to move and a passage appeared beneath his feet. _I guess that did the trick_, he thought wryly to himself.

Before he stepped down the pipe, he cast a strong sleeping spell on the ghost to make sure that she wouldn't wake up. Sliding down the passage, he landed on a mound of animal bones.

"Ugh," he groaned. _I must be in Hogwarts' sewers_.

There appeared to be a main tunnel in front of him and he cast what defensive charms he knew around himself in case of an attack before proceeding. He paused when he reached an incredibly long snake skin. _Oh Merlin, this must have belonged to a basilisk before it was shed._ The prospect of walking into a basilisk lair truly didn't appeal to him but he felt inexplicably compelled to continue onwards. _I'll be able to sense it if it's close; a basilisk isn't like a ghost_, he reasoned to himself.

Continuing on, he eventually entered a grand chamber with incredibly tall ceilings and stalactite formations at the very edges. _I guess this used to be a cave under the lake before Slytherin renovated_, he mused, glad that he had charmed his shoes so that they made no noise.

At the end of the Chamber, he saw a massive statue carved into the wall of an old wizard's face that Harry assumed to be Salazar Slytherin. There was also a round stone on a pedestal to the side. He marvelled at the sheer size of the wall carving before walking towards the pedestal to the left.

The pedestal was a very simple looking thing with very little ornamentation but along its edge, in capital letters read: "To seek one's kith and kin. United we prevail." On top of the stone pedestal was a round stone that was a murky dark green colour. Unsure of what it was, he was disinclined to touch it but again, he felt the same strange compulsion that he had felt since he had slid down the passage and it urged him to put his hands on the stone.

Slowly, with great trepidation, he gingerly reached out with his left hand. As soon as his fingertips made contact, he felt his hand sucked towards the rock until his entire palm and his finger were flat against its smooth surface. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen and he sighed in relief. Then – all of a sudden, a sharp pain slammed into his head like a wrecking ball knocking a hole into concrete and then – there was something alien in his mind. Awareness pulsed from that part of his head that wasn't. Harry blacked out.

xxxxxx

Tom Marvolo Riddle clicked his teeth together at the sudden intrusion into his mind.

Breathing heavily, he straightened up and immediately closed his eyes and calmed his mind; his Occlumency barriers were as strong as ever. He stilled and replayed the events. A foreign presence had made itself known but had done nothing else. It had not been an attack nor a probe. Riddle was certain that there was no magic that would allow two minds to connect unless there was simultaneous eye contact – unless the two wizards had a previous link. He had been careful not to create any such links with others and he knew of no link whose sole purpose was to announce the presence of either wizard – except for one. His Slytherin family connection. Another descendant must have discovered the Chamber of Secrets.

Lord Voldemort's lips pulled into a smirk and his eyes glinted.

xxxxxx

Harry awoke with a quiet groan. Sitting up, he winced as his head gave a twinge. Feeling around, he found a nice big bump on the back of his head from hitting the stone floor.

_I've got to stop doing that_, he thought to himself as he stood up and grabbed his wand.

The pain in his mind had disappeared and the strange 'other' that had suddenly appeared seemed to have settled quietly and curled itself into a small ball so that Harry didn't notice it until he cleared his mind and noticed the strange disturbance. It seemed to have a strange wall around it – like blankets – so that Harry couldn't actually 'touch' it and establish a connection. Unlike before, prodding at it caused him no pain only a vague sort of warmth.

He regarded the pedestal again. _To seek one's kith and kin… _He stroked his fingers over the words. Suddenly, a scrap of paper fluttered down. Grabbing it, Harry read the neatly inked script:

Congratulations on finding the Chamber.

If you are reading this then you have already touched the family stone. Its purpose is to announce your presence to other living members of the Slytherin clan. Perhaps, if you are lucky, you can discover who I am.

– 1957

No name and no other clues except for the year and some handwriting.

Harry sighed heavily, when was he going to stop getting questions and start getting answers?

* * *

The aria that Blodwyn sang at the beginning is from Don Giovanni and is called "Deh, vieni alla finestra". Many wizards through the years have tried to claim that the work was their doing but the opera is generally attributed to Mozart.

Deh, vieni alla finestra, o mio tesoro,

_O come to the window, beloved;_

Deh, vieni a consolar il pianto mio.

_ O come and dispel all my sorrow!_

Se neghi a me di dar qualche ristoro,

_ If you refuse me some solace,_

Davanti agli occhi tuoi morir vogl'io!

_before you dear eyes I will die._

Tu ch'hai la bocca dolce più del miele,

_Your lips are sweeter than honey,_

Tu che il zucchero porti in mezzo al core!

_your heart is sweetness itself:_

Non esser, gioia mia, con me crudele!

_then be not cruel, my angel,_

Lasciati almen veder, mio bell'amore!

_beg for one glance, my beloved!_

* * *

Author's Note: I'm happy that I'm able to update within a reasonable period of time! =P Please note that the above translation is not my own, it's from the Aria-Database dot com. As ever, comments and criticism are appreciated.


	5. Precipitate 5

~ Chapter 5

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose absently as he flipped through his notes. The library, deserted for most of the year, had become a bustling and noisy hub full of students frantically cramming for their exams. Madam Pince had been frowning so hard for the past two weeks, Harry thought that her face might stick that way.

_They'd be better off studying in their common rooms, it would be much less noisy_, he grumbled to himself. T_he last exam is after lunch anyway, if they don't know the material by now, fat lot of good it'll do them to try to memorize for Transfiguration._

Harry had reviewed his notes for second year a little unhappily. He had managed to finish his readings for fifth year only two weeks ago and hadn't had time to properly start on the sixth year books before the exam frenzy had taken over the school and the library. Even unused classrooms were taken over by cliques or loners; there were few places that Harry could go to be alone.

"Honestly Ron, stop that! We had to turn mice into snuff boxes last year, there's no way McGonagall is going to test us on first-year material _again_." Hermione admonished, flicking her wand at the hairy box on the table and turning it back into a mouse that promptly scampered away. "And if you're going to do it then do it properly – if McGonagall sees the rabbit ears twitch on your rabbit slippers, she's definitely going to take off marks."

Ron glowered at Hermione, "Not everyone is a little Miss Perfect. If I want to transfigure a mouse into a snuff box then I'm going to transfigure a mouse into a snuff box. You're not the boss of me!" Despite their harsh words, Harry could tell that there was underlying warmth to their verbal parries.

A little envious, Harry sighed and decided that the group of Gryffindors sitting next to him were too much to take and got up for a walk around the halls until lunch.

Trailing his fingers along the stones on the wall, he ambled slowly and only walked in a very general direction toward the Great Hall.

_Maybe I should study in the Chamber of Secrets_, he thought to himself before immediately dismissing the idea. _Last time I was lucky and only ended up with a bruise; next time, I might end up in a snake's belly or who knows what else._ Besides, he reasoned, it was dark, dank, and smelly down there.

xxxxxx

Harry had very few possessions and had made sure to pack his trunk the night before, right after the end-of-term feast where he'd made sure to nab as much fruit as possible. His dorm mates had collapsed in dramatic fashion, moaning about exhaustion, eating too much, and sleeping too little but Harry had felt no such tiredness and hadn't wanted to deal with the chaos of packing in the morning. He'd even made a special trip to visit the house elves to request more food. Then, he'd cast preservation spells on the fruit and bread and cheese and packed them carefully into his trunk which was mostly empty except for his carefully organized school robes, one change of clothes, and shrunken books; the empty space he filled with food.

Then he'd shrunk and enlarged the trunk without a wand until he was sure that he could pull it off during the summer. The Ministry couldn't charge him with use of underage magic unless he used his wand.

So, it was with some satisfaction as he watched Boot, McDougal, and Entwhistle scramble about finding odd colour socks, crumpled pieces of parchment, and chocolate frog wrappers. Terry Boot had his head stuck under his bed as he tried to reach for one of his shoes. Professor Flitwick had told the Ravenclaws that he would come to get them in the morning and to be prepared to leave by ten o'clock sharp.

Harry murmured _tempus_ under his breath and shook his head. Terry Boot was only half-packed with only fifteen minutes remaining. Harry watched in amusement as Kevin Entwhistle threw a piece of McDougal's Gobstone set to him from across the room with a shout. The exam results had been posted last week and his dorm mates had all performed fairly well. Boot had been particularly pleased because he had tied Draco Malfoy for second place overall. Hermione Granger, despite her fixation on bossing others around, seemed to have done well nevertheless and had come in first. Harry had performed exactly as he'd hoped he would: twelfth from the bottom, passable but only just – the sort of mark that would have made a parent or guardian shake their head.

Humming very quietly to himself as he waited for the seconds to tick by. Professor Lockhart had been embarrassingly arrested during their Defence exam. Apparently, he'd stolen the basis for his books from less attractive witches and wizards and then _obliviated_ them. However, being rather untalented in magic, he'd bungled the spell that he'd cast on his latest victim and after ten months, the witch had managed to break through the spell to notify the aurors (1). Harry had taken to reading the Daily Prophet every day and had read that Lockhart would be given a hearing before the Wizengamot; the likely sentence was several months of community service and a very severe monetary penalty.

Just then, he heard Professor Flitwick's magically charmed voice call all the students to the common room to proceed to the station.

Harry had already shrank and charmed his trunk so that he could tuck it into his pocket when his classmates were sleeping last night and so he walked calmly towards the door as Terry Boot sat heavily on his trunk a few more times in an attempt to squish everything a bit more so that he could close the lid.

xxxxxx

Harry hated riding on the train.

The Hogwarts Express was a magical scarlet steam engine with brass finishings and a polished wood and leather interior. The cabins were very comfortable and spacious and were never too warm nor too hot. There were thick velvet drapes on the large windows and there were polite witches who walked past with many tempting sweets on trolleys. The wheels had charms on them so that the train never shook and there wasn't excessive noise. And the Hogwarts Express was his one way of getting to Hogwarts so his distaste was greatly offset – but Harry still hated the experience of being in the train every time.

He always tried to find an empty cabin to himself but invariably, by the time the train took off, several other people would end up sitting with him. If he was lucky, he would be joined by no more than three other strangers who were quiet and more interested in sleeping or reading than conversation. Unfortunately, Harry usually ended squished up against a wall as a group of friends all sat in the empty seats of his cabin chattering loudly. Like now.

Harry sighed through his nose as Pansy Parkinson jabbed her elbow into his ribs and didn't bother to apologize. Crabbe sat on Pansy's other side whilst Goyle sat across from Harry and glared at him dully. Malfoy sat next to Goyle and feigned disinterest as he watched Pansy tease Crabbe mercilessly.

"Aww, ickly Crabby still needs his cruppy?" Pansy waved a small stuff crup around out of Crabbe's reach as he tried to grab it from her. Cackling gleefully, she stood up and continued to wave it around as Crabbe became more desperate to get the stuff animal back.

"Give – give it back Pansy." Crabbe huffed as he ducked and lunged for it.

Malfoy's mask of indifference cracked as he watched the display eagerly.

Parkinson tossed the crup to Malfoy just as Crabbe would have reached it. Draco behaved much in the same way and taunted Crabbe until Harry thought that the boy would cry with frustration. Unlike Parkinson, Crabbe wasn't willing to grab and tug at Malfoy – even if he really wanted to retrieve his crup. Finally, Draco tossed the stuffed toy to Goyle, who blinked slowly as he regarded the object that suddenly appeared on his lap.

"Goyle!" Crabbe cried in obvious relief, "Gimme it back."

"Okay?" Goyle said and held the thing out to Crabbe, who quickly snatched it back and stuffed it into his trunk.

"Ugh, Goyle, how much more dimwitted can you get?" Pansy pouted and slumped back into her seat, jostling Harry again as he tried to read a potions book that he'd made a copy of from the library. The rest of the ride continued much in the same vein.

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at Kings Cross station. Harry watched as his classmates and peers were greeted by enthusiastic family members and friends with hugs and kisses; he furrowed his eyebrows and clamped his lips tightly together and told himself that he should be used to this by now. That he wouldn't be affected by it – or at least, wouldn't show his envy to others who would just misunderstand his reaction and taunt him.

Harry didn't bother looking around for the Dursleys. Instead, he hunched his shoulders and grimly reminded himself of how useful it was to learn about the wizarding world in general: by reading an ad in the _Prophet_, he'd learned about the Knight Bus and with that knowledge, he'd be able to avoid his nine hour walk to Little Whinging this year. He'd owled in advance for the fee and though it was a bit extravagant, Harry didn't spend his Hogwarts stipend frivolously and had managed to pool together the eleven sickle fare.

xxxxxx

Petunia Dursley sat in front of her vanity as she buffed foundation onto her face and hummed quietly. Dudley was spending the week with his friend Piers Polkiss and Vernon had left for work after eating breakfast. Drawing in her eyebrows carefully, she decided to be bold today and go for a look that she'd seen in her favourite ladies magazine. Then, she'd go out and do a bit of shopping and come back to shine the windows.

Closing her eyelid, she dusted a faint green colour over it and repeated the same action on her other eyelid. Blinking a few times to rid herself of any loose powder, she pursed her lips and looked at herself critically in the mirror. The green eyeshadow brought out the colour of her eyes, which were a vague bluish green. Suddenly, she recalled her sister Lily who had also had green eyes, right? _What colour were they again?_ She furrowed her eyebrows. She knew that she knew what her sister looked like. There was a portrait-like image of Lily in her mind like a fuzzy old Polaroid, still and unmoving; the picture started beneath her shoulders and showed a grinning face of a very pretty young woman. Brown… maybe red hair? How could she believe that she knew her sister's appearance when apparently she couldn't? A wave of dizziness hit her – as it always did whenever she thought of her sister, her brother-in-law or Harry Potter for any length of time longer than a passing thought. Petunia fought the dizziness and tried to remember.

What did Lily look like as a child? Surely she would know. But no matter how Petunia searched her mind, she couldn't remember. She remembered her own fifth birthday party; she remembered visiting the zoo with her parents; she remembered going off to school for the first time and meeting other children. But nowhere in her memories could she find Lily: no memories of Lily running, or crying, or laughing. Only that still unmoving image. Petunia realized that she had no idea how tall her sister was before she died.

The dizziness had turned into a pounding headache and she ignored it as best she could, something inside of her – some instinct – told her that it was very important that she try to remember. How did Lily die?

'She was driving drunk with her husband next to her at night when it was raining; they were running away from criminals who were going to kill them for their gambling debts.'

She blinked. Did she attend the funeral? Petunia didn't know.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as the make-up brush fell out of her hand and clinked on the top of her vanity, startling her out of her thoughts.

Harrumphing to herself, she pursed her lips and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, this would do. The green was very chic, as the magazine had enthused. She raised an eyebrow and admired the effect in the mirror; perhaps she would visit number seven and show off to Margaret, who had recently been flaunting a new scarf.

Batting her eyelashes at herself, she vaguely wondered what she had just been thinking; for some reason, she couldn't remember.

"Must not have been very important," she said, and shook herself a little.

Giving herself one last glance before she left for the day, a stray thought snuck into her mind. _Lily was very pretty_. _Yes_, her mind replied nastily, _but she's dead now so I win_.

The rest of Petunia's day was a great success. She'd found some steaks that were on sale at Tesco and she'd also managed to gain the envious admiration of the ladies of number seven and number four at tea – she'd glared down number three who'd also sported a new look. Afterwards, she'd shined the windows as she'd planned and waved at the postman when he'd passed – she'd giggled to herself at her little flirtation.

Returning inside, she looked briefly at the time as she removed her outdoor apron for her indoor one. Both Vernon and Dudley had complained horribly about their new diet and it hurt her heart that Dudley wasn't happy but all the doctors and nutritionists that she had consulted all told her the same thing: Dudley and Vernon needed to lose weight or face the consequences. Terrified at the prospect that a stroke or heart attack would snatch her Duddikins away from her forever, she had stood her ground and insisted on the fruits and the vegetables – besides, all that salad meant that she didn't need to do anything but wash and cut, no cooking necessary. But now, with Dudley away for the week and Vernon griping, Petunia had given in and had promised to cook some 'real food' for dinner. Knowing that she wasn't very good about the kitchen, she thought that she'd give herself plenty of time and start preparations immediately.

Just as she was putting the potatoes into the pot, a knock sounded at the door. Dumping in the large newly peeled potatoes, she glanced at the time: nearly three o'clock. Taking off her apron and wiping her brow – _why couldn't Vernon just eat salad?_ She _hated_ cooking – she smoothed her hair and attempted to calm her frazzled nerves as she made her way to the door, mystified by who it could be.

xxxxxx

Sanguini sometimes dreamt of the old days. In his dreams, music and lights lit up large ballrooms filled to the brim with men and women, dressed to impress, dancing and flirting and laughing. At the center of it all was his lord, aged by long years and the loss of his daughter; he sat, implacable, uncaring, and silent. But the party swept on gaily around him, confident in their vitality, in their riches, in their excess. Then Sanguini would shudder awake from those dreams.

How blinded they all were to the obvious. Flaunting their existence to the rest of the world by holding highly inconspicuous parties, they tread in the waters of danger – even in those days, vampires were not welcome. But for a while, the Ministry had turned a blind eye; the vampires donated generously, even if it was illegally, and the politicians were happy to take any money they could. The wizards were too busy dealing with Grindelwald to bother with the vampires; they could not afford a war on two fronts when they were hanging on the precipice of survival. So the vampires, stupidly – _So stupid!_ He would cry to himself, silently at night, clawing at the earth in his frustration – became more and more bold and glutted themselves without care on the blood of those who had lost their homes, on children, and even on aurors. Without their King to hold them back, they degenerated to little more than beasts despite their airs, their flowery manners, and their pretty clothes.

His lord was the last pureblood in Britain and was as powerful as any pureblood before him – but like his ancestors, he had governed very little even in his youth, uninterested by statecraft. And like many purebloods before him, he had very quickly lost interest in governing at all. But unlike his predecessors, there were no other purebloods to take his place. His daughter had escaped their world, stifled by the power games and by the bacchanalian lifestyle. So, the rest of the vampires acted without care, drawing power from their King whilst knowing their lord had turned into a statue that would do nothing to stop them.

How quickly they all fell when the Ministry tuned their eyes upon them, fat on the laurels of victory, swift on the heels of Grindelwald's defeat. The vampires stood no chance against an army of aurors who had recently faced war. Disorganized and mired in their luxurious lives and always squabbling between themselves because their King would not intervene on their disputes, it seemed like they all fell within one night.

And now, now, as Sanguini crept along the backstreets and alleys of London, he made sure to be careful to stay in the shadows. He tried not to let shame and despair overwhelm him: he had nothing to offer his lord, he barely managed to scrounge an existence. Sanguini had not missed the tattered state of Harry's clothes, but his own clothes fared even worse and he had no others to offer his King as a replacement. He had no riches to give either. He had lost all his finery after the Ministry 'confiscated' them. He had no domicile with which he could offer Harry shelter, not even a shack. No shelter, no finery, no clothes. Sanguini could remember the look on his lord's face as he'd turned to leave Hogwarts those many months ago: distressed, clearly begging him to stay. But Sanguini could not even offer the comfort of his presence – as a vassal, his humiliation was complete. If he was captured, he would be executed and if his execution led to Harry being found out, then all hope would be lost and vampires like Blodwyn Blud would reign. His nails gouged into a telephone phone as he blinked away the prickling in his eyes and slowly shook himself. It would do no good to dwell on the past now. He needed to focus.

He slowly made his way towards towards Surrey and towards hope.

xxxxxx

Harry walked off the Knight Bus with difficulty. A journey that should've taken a normal car almost two hours had taken the Knight Bus only thirty minutes. Swaying a little and feeling like his stomach had ended up in his mouth and his heart buried somewhere in his intestines, he waved to Stan and tried not to feel more nauseous as he watched the bus zoom off.

Heaving a sigh, he walked up to Number Four Privet Drive and knocked, wishing that he were anywhere but here. He patted his pockets nervously as he waited for someone to open the door; he could sense that someone was in. His uncle's car wasn't in the driveway – but he was probably at work. Dudley would probably be hanging about the park with his friends as he did every summer so Aunt Petunia was likely home.

Hearing the sound of footsteps inside the house, he stepped back from the door to meet the face of his aunt. For a moment, she looked at him uncomprehendingly as if he were a stranger. Her eyes wandered over his faded and overlarge clothes, his large, bulky, and scratched glasses, and his messy hair. Even though Harry took care to keep clean – his appearance always belied the amount of time that he spent grooming.

Just as he thought she was about to snap at him and ask him what he wanted, he saw her eyes blink with recognition.

"Oh. It's you." She deadpanned and a look of general displeasure washed into her face, which Harry was rather horrified to note, was rather green looking from all the makeup that she had put on.

Suddenly, she snapped her head around and peered at the neighbouring houses. She grabbed him roughly by the upper arm and dragged him into the house, slamming the door.

xxxxxx

Harry breathed harshly and blew as gently as he could on his hands, which were a bright fiery and painful red, but even that hurt. Petunia had made Harry make dinner but when Harry told her he needed to take the potatoes out of the pot because they wouldn't cook properly without being cut smaller or without some holes poked into them, she'd dumped the whole thing – boiling water and all – into the sink and onto his hands. Then, she'd made him start over and make the steak as well. Harry had worked as quickly as he could, the burns on his hands were incredibly painful and it was all he could do not to whimper. The moment the food was served onto plates, she'd locked him into his cupboard, where he still sat crouched over in pain.

He knew that he needed to run cold water on the burns otherwise they would just get worse – but he had to wait until the Dursleys were asleep before he could sneak out into the garden to use the hose. He couldn't risk getting found out by using the kitchen tap.

Finally, he felt the thumping of footsteps – lighter ones, his aunt, heavy ones, his uncle – on the stairs as the light bulb in his little cupboard under the stairs swayed a little and dust from the low ceiling fell down. He squeezed his eyes shut as the noise passed and it was all he could do not to bolt out of the cupboard and out into the yard where he would finally have some relief.

_No_, he told himself_, I've waited for them finish dinner and I've waited for them to finish watching the television, the last thing I need is for them to find out I can sneak out – they'll be asleep soon, I just need to hold out 'til then._

He pressed his forehead against his knees and kept the skin on his hands from touching anything by holding his hands away from his body. The pain was incredible – his fingers twitched and he was getting dizzy – already, ugly looking blisters were starting to form; if he was in so much pain despite his vampire constitution, he shuddered to think what it would be like if he were only human. Finally, after guessing that fifteen or thirty minutes had passed and at the edge of his endurance, he concentrated on the door of his cupboard and heard the satisfying click of lock opening. Careful not to agitate his hands, he used his should to nudge open the door and climbed out as silently as he could. Just as quietly, he nudged the door closed with his knee and quickly snuck out to the garden in the dark.

It was very painful to turn the spout but he reminded himself again of the necessity and gritted his teeth against the sting. Finally, he collapsed against the side of the house and heaved a sigh of relief as the cold water flowed over his hands and into the small drain that was connected to the sewers.

"My lord."

Harry scratched his hands against the brick of the house as he turned, startled by the sudden voice.

"_Argh_," he cried, as quietly as he could, and hunched his shoulders.

"My lord, what's the matter? You're hurt."

Through the slits of his eyes, Harry made out a dark shadowy figure crouched next to him.

"Sanguini?"

"At your service."

Harry allowed the vampire to gently draw his hands away from his chest so that Sanguini could inspect them.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" Sanguini asked quietly, voice pinched and alarmed.

Harry breathed harshly and just shook his head.

"We need to fix this now before it gets worse; already you look like you have a fever. Here," Sanguini held his own wrist to Harry's mouth, "you need blood. You're very weak."

Harry turned his head away but a smooth and cold hand stopped him.

"My lord, this is not the time. You cannot deny what you are." Sanguini's eyes bore into his, full of earnestness, urgency, and passion. "Please, I promise that this will not hurt me."

Again, he held his wrist to Harry's mouth and after a moment of hesitation, Harry carefully fit his teeth around the proffered limb gently bit down.

Looking at Sanguini worriedly as he retracted his incisors and sucked a little on the wound, the blood filling his mouth, he was relieved to find no sign of pain on the vampires face. With his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, Sanguini looked very peaceful and – a strange combination of relief and pleasure shone on his face. Harry drew his eyes down to the grass; the expression seemed very personal and he felt a bit awkward to have seen it.

Focusing on the taste of blood, Harry couldn't decide if he liked it or not. As a child, he'd had the taste of it in his mouth and it had never appealed to him – in fact, the metallic tang had always revolted him a little. But now, perhaps because his vampiric nature had been awakened, the taste was much easier to accept. The bitterness and the coppery taste – all the harshness of blood was diluted and mellowed though it still burned a little on the way down, similar to the effect to of alcohol. A taste to be acquired with time.

Harry already felt the healing in his hands as they tingled pleasantly. The blisters were receding before his eyes and the swelling had decreased dramatically. Still drawing blood into his mouth, Harry watched as the redness also faded. Deciding that it was time to stop, he withdrew his mouth and lapped at the dainty wounds his small fangs had left.

Sanguini gave a happy little sigh as Harry retreated and fluttered his eyes open.

Harry chewed a little at the inside of his lip, uncertain what to think about drinking blood for the first time, as a silence drew out between them.

Deciding to put that aside for the moment and think about his philosophical problems later, he said "Um, thank you. I didn't ah, hurt you, did I?" He gripped at the grass self-consciously.

"No, my lord, not all! It's a great honour." Sanguini crouched even lower so that he met Harry's downcast eyes, "Please believe me. It wasn't at all painful. You were very gentle and you even healed the bite – you see?" He showed Harry the small bite marks that were already fading into pinpricks as the skin healed. "I'm very happy to be of some use to you, my lord!"

Though his voice was very quiet, his ardent sincerity came through and Harry couldn't help the blush that suddenly stole across his face at Sanguini's wholeheartedness.

Looking away from Sanguini, Harry muttered, "You don't have to call me 'my lord' all the time – just Harry is okay." Looking at the vampire from the corner of his eyes, he was happy to see him nod in agreement.

"How did you know where to find me? I wasn't sure that you would come."

"I've been following you for quite some time and I was with you as you walked from London to Little Whinging last year. But I wasn't sure that you were who I hoped you to be so I didn't announce myself until recently. I will always be with you until you have no more need of me, Harry. This is my pledge to you." Sanguini gently brought his newly healed hand to his lips and kissed it in reverence.

Harry blushed again and looked away.

"I will only be tempted to continue like this if you continue to blush." Sanguini's smile was all teeth.

Harry stared at him. "Are you," he hesitated, "are you _teasing_ me?"

Immediately the vampire sobered, "I have not lied to you – please do not doubt the sincerity of my words. However, I admit that I may be overacting a little to incite a response." Sanguini patted him on his head. Harry scowled at him and smoothed out his hair.

Afterwards, with far less awkwardness, they talked a bit more before Sanguini finally shooed him back into the house with a promise that he would return the following night and every night for the rest of the summer.

xxxxxx

For the next few weeks, Sanguini would spend a few hours each night talking with him, answering whatever questions Harry could think of, allowing Harry to feed, and then leaving him alone so that he would have some private time to think and read some of his school books. But each night he returned and Harry became more and more comfortable with him.

"Why did my mum leave the vampires? Is aunt Petunia also a vampire?"

"Ah, isn't that a difficult question? Short of asking her yourself, I think she left because she was tired of the way that the rest of the vampires were living at the time. We indulged ourselves a great deal in material things but despite our wealth, many of us were very unhappy. The suicide rate has always been very high amongst vampires you know? Even today, I think that it's the single highest cause of death amongst our race. As for Petunia Dursley, she's is not your aunt at all. When your mother, Lily, escaped to Hogwarts, she fabricated a false identity for herself. As far as I can tell, she enrolled as a Muggleborn witch. I don't know how or why she decided on the Dursleys to be her _family_." Sanguini sneered. "If I had the means of providing for you, I would not hesitate to snap their necks for what they do to you."

Harry touched Sanguini's arm. "It's alright – can you tell me how my parents died?"

Sanguini sighed. "That is a story that's a bit long in the telling. I'll start at the beginning. Have you heard of Grindelwald?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Grindelwald was the most fearsome dark lord of his time. Even today, people are hesitant to speak his name. He held a reign of terror over Europe and for a long while, people were uncertain whether they would be able to stop him. Britain was no exception and the Ministry threw all their resources into the war. Once the war was over – despite the fact that it was Albus Dumbledore who ultimately defeated Grindelwald – the Ministry enjoyed a long period where the populace had great faith in them and they had absolute power. The only threats to that power came from various creatures: centaurs, mermaids, werewolves – and yes, vampires to name a few, who had long annoyed the Ministry. So, to further establish their authority, they chose to target the vampires and the werewolves, this allowed them to flex their muscles to intimidate their enemies and also other creatures.

These two races had behaved wildly in the past mostly due to nihilistic leadership. Despite their power, they were easily overwhelmed when confronted with an organized front of aurors. Their riches and their rights were taken from them. Laws were made to push them to the edges of survival: unable to hold a job or own property, even the vampires who quietly went along with the changes died. The ones who resisted were executed. For vampires, purebloods are our fount of power. Your very existence, Harry, gives me strength as one who has pledged myself to you; you would similarly give strength to other vampires who will inevitably pledge themselves to you in the future. Your grandfather was the reigning pureblood during that time and because he was so despondent after the loss of his daughter – the Ministry was able to kill him very quickly and once he died..."

"So the Ministry is behind all this?"

"It's very likely that they found out about your mother – the very existence of a pureblood would threaten them – and killed her and your father."

"So what about me? Why didn't they kill me?"

"I'm not sure Harry. It is likely because they thought you weren't a pureblood. Remember that I had to bite you to awaken you vampiric nature? You mother would have hidden that aspect of your being when you were born so as to safeguard you from those who would do you harm."

Harry was quieted. "So I'm the last pureblood in Britain? I don't… have any other family?"

Sanguini sighed and stroked his hair soothingly. "I'm very sorry Harry. But even a hundred years ago, purebloods were very rare. Today, I think there may only be twelve purebloods alive in all of Europe."

"And they don't want to come to Britain because they'd be hunted?"

Sanguini nodded. "Why would they leave their home countries where they live like royalty?"

"So, what is a pureblood exactly? I've looked them up but I can't find any mention in my school books."

"I'm not too surprised," Sanguini said with a smile, "remember when I said that purebloods are very rare?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, vampires are not, in general, keen to tell others about our way of life. And purebloods are a very closely guarded secret; I wouldn't be surprised if only a handful of wizards know that pureblood vampires exist.

You already know some of the differences, right? You don't burn in the sun, you can sustain yourself on human food – for all intents and purposes you could pass very easily as a simple wizard. However, you hold great power over other vampires. Your blood is the least diluted blood of the vampires of old. In you is a Will and this Will is what allows you to rule us. Without purebloods to keep us in line, vampires are a lawless and disorganized lot." He said with a sneer as his eyes seemed to look far away.

"What do you mean by 'will', Sanguini?"

"It is easier, I think, to explain what you can do with it than what it is, exactly. With your Will, you can use your voice or a gesture to command us to do your bidding – and we would have no choice to but to obey."

"So, if I asked you to skip in a circle, you'd do it?

Sanguini gave a little laugh. "Not like that I won't. You need to…" he waved his hands around vaguely, "speak with conviction. Whenever I was under your grandfather's Will – it was like, I was floating on a cloud. Aware of my actions but having no control over myself at all. Try making me again."

"Sanguini, skip in a circle."

Sanguini shook his head.

"Sanguini, skip in a circle!"

"I don't think speaking more loudly would help. You need to – you need to really _want_ me to do something, I think."

Harry thought about it a little bit. To really _want_ something to happen. He furrowed his brows and thought of _wanting_ to leave the Dursleys, of _wanting_ to be at Hogwarts, of _wanting _to know his parents. Emotions that he usually kept bottled up bubbled inside of him, threatening to burst. Beating them back so that they wouldn't overwhelm him but fanning them so that they didn't die down took some effort and a lot of focus.

"Sanguini," he said quietly, "skip in a circle."

He stared a little dispassionately through the haze of control that he maintained on himself as Sanguini skipped in a thoroughly ridiculous manner around the Dursleys' backyard.

"Stop."

Sanguini slumped bonelessly next to the bushes.

"Yes," he said, his eyes shining very brightly, "that's it."

xxxxxx

Before the summer was over, Harry had discovered that Sanguini was a ruthless taskmaster. Every night, he would drill Harry to practise commanding him until it was easier and took less time for Harry to muster up his determination.

Sooner than he realized, his birthday passed and they were well into August and soon Harry would have to return to Hogwarts.

Lying in the grass and enjoying the cool night air after a hot day, Harry asked a question that he'd been wondering, "Sanguini, how old are you?"

"Oh my! How rude! To think you'd ask a gentleman his age." Sanguini cried in false affectation.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"To be honest, I'd stopped counting after a while. If I had to guess I'm say, maybe three hundred years old? I'm not sure."

Harry stared at him. "You're _three hundred years old_?" For a second, he felt a bit awkward that the man he'd been joking with and had developed something like a friendship with was so much older and than he.

"Oh my, you're making me blush!" Sanguini giggled, breaking the tension.

Harry rolled his eyes again, "You haven't grown up in three hundred years!"

Sanguini smiled at him. "Maybe not. But I'm likely to be one of the older vampires that you meet – the vast majority of vampires don't live past the first two hundred years."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously.

"Suicide." Sanguini said with a shrug and flopped back onto the grass. "Living alone for a long time tends to make us very depressed and then – well, a stake through the heart, a fight with a werewolf, a step into the sun – if you seek it, death can be easy. With the way things are recently, vampires are dropping like flies; they either kill themselves or are killed by the Ministry."

"But you…"

"I've had a purpose Harry. My duty was to guard your great-grandfather and your grandfather after him. Now, my duty is to you. It is remarkably easier to keep living if one knows one's purpose."

"Oh," Harry said quietly and was silent for a moment before asking, "When will I meet the other vampires that you've spoken about?"

Sanguini sat up and looked down at him very seriously. "I did not want to put you into danger by allowing them to meet you until you were comfortable exerting your Will. There is a duality to your nature Harry. While purebloods are the rulers of other vampires and feed upon them, the blood of a pureblood is the sweetest ambrosia to any vampire. It will give us unparalleled strength, speed, and power. If one of them had attacked you before you were able to defend yourself, I shudder to think of the consequences."

Harry stared at him, breath a little shallow as he realized the danger that he was in. "Do you want my blood too, Sanguini?"

Sanguini's eyes softened. "I will never drink your blood unless you offer it to me freely – it is the highest gift that you can give, never give it under pressure nor frivolously. Love your subjects Harry, but always remember that you need to exert your Will over them. As for myself, my purpose is to serve you and any heirs that you may sire."

And with that, summer soon drew to a close and bidding farewell to Sanguini, Harry returned to Hogwarts.

* * *

(1) The witch in question had very hairy warts on her nose and her chin and had managed to scare off several grindylows. Hence the title of Lockhart's book: _Games with Grindylows_.

* * *

Author's Note: Whew – this was a long chapter! I wanted to continue onwards with the plot so I wanted to get Harry's summer over with this chapter but I may have bitten off a bit more that I expected. I wanted to thank everyone for the lovely reviews so far; they're my fuel to write faster.

I also wanted to respond to some questions that have popped up:

Harry has just finished second year and is unaware of the identity of the man with whom he has a link – for that matter, Voldemort also doesn't know Harry's identity.

I hope this chapter has been illuminating regarding Harry's relationship to the Dursleys.

Sanguini is deeply ashamed that he is unable to perform some of his duties as a vassal and servant to his King – regardless that he has yet to develop deep personal bonds to Harry, to Sanguini, it's a matter of pride and it is deeply humiliating that he cannot provide for Harry. He also can't follow Harry to Hogwarts for fear of discovery and arrest.

So far, I've yet to create any of my own characters – Blodwyn Blud is a character from HPVerse that was mentioned on a Chocolate Frog card, the students from Ravenclaw are taken from either book or movie canon, and Madam Edgecombe and Mafalda Hopkirk exist in the books. In general, I'll try to use existing characters as much as possible (though many of them will be quite esoteric, hahaha).

I try to update at least once a week usually on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.

If you have this story on your alert list but don't see the new chapter – it's probably because the site takes a while to update. Often times, even I can't see my new chapters until several minutes have passed.

Next chapter: third year! You'll find that I'll zoom through it fairly quickly and we'll soon arrive at the much awaited fourth year, where much of the action starts.

Thanks again everyone, you make my day!


	6. Precipitate 6

~ Chapter 6

Harry found himself wishing for Sanguini's company soon after the term started and that longing increased with every passing day. Despite the constant chatter and bustle around him at Hogwarts, Harry walked in a bubble of silence. Almost no one spoke to him – since he'd decided to stop doing well in classes, the professors knew better than to pick on him – and Harry never initiated conversation with anyone. He realized how much of every day he either spent with his books or in his own head and, for the first time, realized just how much he relied on Sanguini.

Professor Sprout knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Alright, now everyone give it a go."

All around him, his classmates pulled on their gloves and reached for the plant that they were repotting into dragon dung compost – "the best compost", as Professor Sprout liked to remind them every so often.

As he approached his assigned plant with some trepidation, he took a quick look at his classmates and saw that many of them were struggling with the curling, vine-like roots that wove itself around the hand that held it. Overall, it was easy to un-plant but rather tricky to convince to live in a new pot of soil.

As Harry grasped his plant – "very firmly, at the base" – and pulled it out, he saw that the roots also made an attempt at slithering around his hand. But as they curled around, he could see his little 'problem' immediately start to wilt each vine-like root until they fell limply off. Soon, the plant made no more attempts at grabbing at him and Harry quickly put it into its new pot of soil and pulled his hand back. Unfortunately, the area where Harry had held the plant was a little yellow and the head of the plant was lolling a little bit as if it were dazed. Quickly, Harry brushed the soil around to hide to try and hide evidence.

His 'black thumb' problem had only gotten worse during the summer and no amount of research had turned up any leads as to the cause. It was equally interesting that he did not have the reverse problem in Potions – no dead plants suddenly quickened in his hands. He resigned himself to quitting Herbology the moment he hit sixth year.

xxxxxx

When the school year was well into October, Harry was ready to scream with frustration. He was making little headway with the sixth year material, which had a marked jump in difficulty from fifth year, and Harry oscillated at high speeds between pessimistic thoughts about the extent of his ability and a strong determination to persevere. He was also straining under the weight of his promise to remain forgettable and unnoticeable. Not really progressing in his studies, he was stuck going over lower-level material again and again and again, and each time pretending like he was an idiot to his peers and the faculty.

_Why do I have to keep pretending like I don't know the number of fingers on my right hand? They haven't figured out that I'm a vampire yet and as far as Sanguini has explained to me, they shouldn't be able to unless they were actively looking for it in me._

_Besides_, he rationalized to himself, _the OWLS are very important in the wizarding world. Combined with the NEWTS, they determined one's eligibility for professions and higher education in the wizarding world. Wouldn't it be more suspicious if he suddenly performed exceptionally well in his OWLS and NEWTS after almost-failing in all his Hogwarts classes? _

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed noisily. He hadn't completely convinced himself of that argument but every day, as hours passed in the devotion of learning a single sixth year spell at a time, he found his resolve to appear dimwitted crumble.

It didn't help that he couldn't write to Sanguini for fear of discovery and he was feeling more and more lonely each day.

These thought were getting him nowhere. He shook his head as if doing so would clear it and bent back to the sixth year Charms textbook. Even if progress was much slower than before, he _was_ making his way through the books and could reasonably hope to finish well before the Easter holidays.

xxxxxx

The school was decorated in fine fashion for Halloween and cobwebs with excessively large spiders, pumpkins that hinted at lewd things to students, and bats filled the corridors. Living in such an incredible place for most of the year made his awful summers with the Dursleys seem surreal in comparison and reminded him where he really belonged.

Trooping down the Great Hall for breakfast a little behind schedule, he wasn't surprised to find that few of the students were awake this early in the morning though he did notice a few of the upper year Ravenclaw girls moving away from the table – undoubtedly fifth years who were all atwitter for their OWLS.

He ate breakfast very quickly before marching back to the library and asking the librarian for a copy of the Daily Prophet. As he moved to a quiet corner of the library, he noticed in passing the same group of girls from breakfast who were, as predicted, nose deep in their fifth year books.

The front page had very little real news – weddings, intrigue, an article about the weather – and Harry skimmed through the paper until his attention was caught by a small article that seemed to have been thrown in at the last moment. _Malfoy's Bill for Orphans!_ The title proclaimed.

Apparently, with the backing of Lord Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy had recently introduced a bill for the Ministry to create wizarding orphanages to house and provide a stipend and supplementary education for magical children without any magical relatives alive or willing to take them in. Apparently, no public orphanages existed in magical Britain.

Harry couldn't help the hope and elation that immediately welled up inside of him – he knew that such a bill would provide relief for him and would lead to him leaving the muggle world behind forever. _And if I had a proper guardian, I'd be able to go on the Hosmeade trips_, his mind supplied petulantly. One of Harry's greatest desires was to see and experience more of the wizarding world.

He could barely keep himself focused all day even through Ancient Runes, the elective he chose along with Care of Magical Creatures, one of his favourite classes. His mind kept running wild with fantasies of what life would be life if Malfoy's bill passed.

So it wasn't _really_ his fault when he slipped up.

"Mister Potter tell me, as you seem too bored with the material to _pay attention_, what are the ingredients in the Shrinking Solution?"

Snapping his head up, he replied thoughtlessly, "Oh – minced daisy roots, peeled shrivelfig, sliced caterpillars, a single rat spleen, and a small amount of leech juice. The potion must be left to simmer before it can be drunk and can be poisonous to some if prepared correctly, sir."

Harry blinked at Snape owlishly, wondering if the man would ask a follow-up question before the slight lift of the professor's eyebrow notified him that something was quite wrong.

_Oh_.

Harry darted his eyes about in a fairly good imitation of a mouse caught in a corner and hunched into himself a little bit.

"Well Potter, it seems that a brain does exist in the space between your ears, no matter how small. Since you can manage to answer this time, there is no sense that you will not be able to answer question correctly in the future," Suddenly, the man seemed to lean closer and grow in size, "_is there_?"

Harry felt like a huge stone was caught in his throat but managed a very, very small nod.

When class ended, he rushed pack his things and leave before he could catch the professor's notice again.

"Mister Potter."

Harry froze. No such luck.

He guiltily slunk his way to Professor Snape's desk and only barely managed to meet the man's narrowed eyes.

"I neither know nor care what your other instructors consider acceptable behaviour in their classes however I have better things to do than to read sub-par assignments and deal with blundering in class. So, you _will_ put forth your best effort or you will be cleaning all the cauldrons with a fork until I get it." His voice was low and full of promise. "Do we have an understanding Mister Potter?"

Harry hesitated for a beat before the narrowing of Snape's eyes made him bob his head.

Snape sneered, "Then get out of my sight."

Harry's heart beat so quickly, he thought it would flutter out of his chest as he dashed out of the class and into an abandoned classroom.

"Okay Potter, calm down," he said to himself as he panted and tried to get his breathing under control. "So, nothing really bad actually happened just now. So what if Snape wants you to perform to well? It's not like he'll suddenly think – 'Ah! So Potter _can_ stir clockwise – clearly he must be a vampire!'"

_Besides, _he reasoned to himself, _haven't I been thinking about giving up the act anyway?_

Soon, he managed to calm down. _What's happened has already happened. There's no use fussing over it and it's given me a final push to start doing better in my classes._

_In any case_, he thought with a shudder_, I _really_ don't want to clean mucked up cauldrons_.

xxxxxx

Lord Voldemort flicked the Prophet closed with some satisfaction.

"My Lord," Avery started before hesitating, "though the bill is an excellent idea, why…"

"Why introduce a bill that is bound for failure?" Voldemort looked around his study and found several of his followers nodding.

"For several reasons, of course. One, it will placate my enemies who fear that I have gained too much power over the Wizengamot – when this bill fails, though not entirely one hopes, they will be reassured that there is as much disunity as ever. But most importantly, this is our opening volley. A drawing of the lines between us and those who stand against us, a quiet declaration to those who are listening." Lord Voldemort paused to cast a glance at the empty spot beside Malfoy. "It is the beginning, gentleman, of our long awaited fight."

xxxxxx

"Severus, you do know what this means."

"Yes, it appears that they have decided to act."

Without really knowing why, Harry quickly ducked into an alcove as the Headmaster and Professor Snape slowly rounded the corner and into the deserted hallway.

"I fear that they will garner much public support with this bill."

Snape inclined his head in agreement.

"So we must keep things as quiet as possible. This marks the beginning of what may prove to be a long and taxing fight between us. Now is the time for us to set the stage – we must respond appropriately. I have already begun contacting our supporters. Will you contact yours?"

Again, Snape nodded.

"Although the general populous may not know it, I am certain that Lord Riddle knows that this bill is about much more than just orphans…"

Their voice trailed off as they wandered further down the hall.

Harry left his alcove and walked towards dinner with a frown. The Headmaster and Professor Snape seemed to have been discussing the bill that he had read about in this morning's Prophet. But what had they meant about a fight between them and Lord Voldemort? It also seemed like the Headmaster and Professor Snape and their "supporters" didn't support the bill – or maybe just Lord Voldemort and whoever may be helping him?

Whatever the case, Harry wasn't too sure if he liked being referred to as "just" an orphan.

xxxxxx

Griselda Marchbanks walked very quickly towards Malfoy in the hall as the Wizengamot session ended and people began to pour out.

"Malfoy," she hissed, keeping her voice low, "I need to speak with you regarding the bill."

Lucius raised an eyebrow as her and smirked. Their predictions about Dumbledore's plans were right on target. "Yes?"

"Not here," she hedged, recalling Dumbledore's warning to keep things quiet.

"What, pray tell, must this be to be discussed in privacy?" His eyes glinted at her. Dumbledore may want to keep things quiet but it was to their advantage to broadcast this as loudly as possible. Marchbanks couldn't have set things up better.

"Look here, you and I both know what's really happening. Now, you may support Riddle but Dumbledore –"

"Dumbledore!" Lucius said, projecting his voice to draw the attention of everyone in the hall – including the reporters. "Whatever relationship you may have with the eminent Headmaster Dumbledore Madame Marchbanks, this bill is of vital importance to our children – the very foundation and future of our world!" He continued loudly for the audience that had gathered, ignoring Griselda's attempts to shush him, "Therefore, I cannot see any reason that you and Dumbledore may have against it!"

He finished with a triumphant look at his fellow Wizengamot member as she looked about with horror at the reporters surrounding them with their Quick Quotes Quills already flying across pages of parchment.

xxxxxx

It is well almost December before his classmates start to realize that he had been performing exceptionally well in all of his classes. Unlike Terry Boot, Harry saw no particular reason to broadcast his performance to everyone nor to answer questions in classes unless the professors called on him – which they had begun doing once they realized the quality of his assignments and his tests scores had improved meteorically.

Harry didn't think anybody _really_ paid him any mind until someone noticed that the bulk of their house points had been earned by him in the past few weeks.

But by then, Harry was too caught up in the storm of the debate that was published everyday about the seemingly innocuous bill that Malfoy and Voldemort had introduced a month ago to pay much attention to the jealous whispers or to the fawning by his classmates.

The small article that had been devoted to the to bill seemed like a joke now as the papers were covered the debate on the front page each day and included at least another two or three other articles inside on the topic.

It seemed like the conversation that Harry had overheard _had_ been about this issue; an earlier article referred to one Griselda Marchbanks yelling about Dumbledore in the halls of the Ministry and soon after, the Headmaster himself was drawn into the debate and his comments – along with Lord Voldemort's – made the headlines every day.

Dumbledore argued that although the Ministry could do more to support orphans, children with living kin – including Muggle kin – are better off with their natural families.

Harry had more than a few words brewing inside of his that he wanted to unleash to the Headmaster about that. Dumbledore was not only the head of the most prestigious school in Britain, he was also a major political figure and leader. Without ever enquiring as to the treatment of magical children in Muggle families – certainly, Harry knew that _his_ situation had never been investigated – how could Dumbledore make such an irresponsible claim? Couldn't he see how much such an orphanage could have helped someone such as Harry? Ignoring the fact that he had never been truly full until he ate a meal at Hogwarts, or that even as a small child he was forced to do heavy chores, or the verbal abuse – the Dursleys had never _really wanted him_.

The only reason they bothered to keep him, as they reminded him often, was because _Hogwarts_ paid them an allowance each year and because the assistant Headmistress sent them annual letters in the summer to 'check-up'. In other words, _Dumbledore_ was not only the man who was preventing him from going to a better home, he was also the man that convinced the Dursleys to keep him in their horrid house!

Harry felt the books around him shudder from his magic as it whirled around him angrily. He didn't know what feud Dumbledore had with Voldemort but at the moment, he knew who he agreed with and hoped with all his heart that the bill would pass into law.

xxxxxx

As a result of his newfound popularity with the rest of his house, he found himself surrounded by several of his peers and getting speculative looks from the rest. In particular, people he had barely known existed would walk up to him and pat him on the back or smile; the other day, Cho Chang gave him a smile – "very, very popular" hissed Lisa Turpin, and "very, very pretty, that's what" hissed back Kevin Entwhistle, who had attached themselves to him. Entwhistle to a less annoying effect. But Harry had to admit that their antics were very funny if somewhat repetitive; they seemed to be in perpetual disagreement about everything. He also had to admit that their presence and their chatter, though it brought him inconveniences, folded around him like a blanket and did more to ease his loneliness and balance him than any other recognition he was getting for his academic achievements.

Other than Sanguini, Harry felt like these were his first friends.

And so it was that one morning after the Yule holidays that Harry found himself sitting between a rather chirpy Lisa and an unusually grumbling Kevin, both happy to share stories of their Christmas and complain about returning to school. They had all given each other small gifts for the holidays, their friendship too new for anything more.

Harry nodded absently as Lisa complained about Kevin's lassitude and reached for his pumpkin juice. Suddenly, a small brown owl landed in front of him and stuck its leg out.

Harry stared at it. He _never_ got owl post. It stared back. And rotated its head and clacked its beak impatiently.

"Oh!" Harry awkwardly reached for the parchment, "Right. Here." He offered it a slice of bacon for its troubles and it hooted approvingly before winging off.

Lisa and Kevin were still engaged in an am-not-are-too fight to pay him much attention so Harry took a look at his letter.

_To: Mister Harry Potter, Hogwarts_

_From: Your Account Manager, Gringotts_

Idly wondering that he even _had_ an account manager, Harry broke the wax seals on the letter and nearly dropped it in surprise once he read it.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are sorry to inform you that Sirius Black, head of the House of Black, passed away on January 2, 1994 at twelve minutes past four in the morning in Azkaban._

_As his godson, you are the sole heir and beneficiary of his estate. Please visit Gringotts at your earliest convenience to settle affairs and for an account review._

_Condolences,_

_Gringotts Bank_

"What is it Harry?" Lisa asked.

Suddenly aware that he was still gaping at the letter, he quickly re-folded it and put it into the inside pocket of his robes.

"Nothing, just my relatives." Before he knew more about the situation, he didn't really want anyone else to know.

Lisa and Kevin both made a sympathetic sound and turned back to their breakfasts. Harry really hadn't told them anything about the Dursleys other than that they were his aunt and uncle and rather unpleasant. Enough to stymie their questions and dampen any curiosity.

xxxxxx

For the first time since he'd entered Hogwarts, Harry couldn't wait for summer to arrive. He'd agreed to meet with the goblins once school ended and would be able to make a trip to Gringotts and now that third year was finally over, he wouldn't have to wait any longer.

xxxxxx

Author's Note: This chapter is a bit long in coming. As I mentioned in my update on my author's profile, I've had a very busy past few months and didn't really have the time or the motivation to write until now, spurred by guilt, delight that new readers are still discovering the story (and leaving very nice reviews). The trade-off in getting this chapter (I typed it quickly, before my motivation waned) is that I really haven't had much time to read it over. Any spelling/grammar mistakes are mine alone and I hope it's not too terrible.

As you may have noticed, I've decided to change the way that I'm separating my paragraphs for scene changes so that they'll hopefully, you know, actually work this time. Let me know if you're still experiencing problems.

As always, reviews make me write faster *poke poke* and I want to thank those who've stuck around =)

p.s. I _did_ warn you that I would be playing with some clichés. =P


	7. Precipitate 7

~ Chapter 7

Harry approached Gringotts with his letter clutched tightly in his hand. The Alley was less busy than in September, when it was full of families and school children, and Harry thought wistfully of the school year that had drawn to a close and the months that separated him from his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Harry joined a short line to a teller and soon enough found himself across a particularly unpleasant looking goblin.

"Yes?" the goblin asked with impatience, not bothering to look up from the parchment he was scribbling on.

"I received a letter from Gringotts informing me of an inheritance."

"Hand it here," the goblin said, sticking out a long-nailed hand and snatching the letter.

He flipped the parchment open with practised efficiency and also immediately smacked it down to peer at Harry with a baleful glare.

"So you've come, eh?" he harrumphed with ill humor. "We could not be sure that you were alive. If you had arrived three weeks later, then we could have reclaimed it," he continued to mutter with distaste as he clambered down from his tall stool.

"Griphook!" he called. Another goblin, just as unpleasant looking as the first, appeared beside them.

"Mr. Potter has arrived to claim his inheritance."

"Ah," said Griphook, also eyeing Harry with distaste. "Follow me."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes with exasperation at their greed and wanted to bare his teeth at their underhandedness. He had never been informed that there was a deadline or time limit to claim Sirius Black's will. He reminded himself to always be wary of dealing with Goblins - it was as much what they told you as what they didn't that was important.

They walked past the tellers into a dim corridor lined with doors that Harry was unfamiliar with.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door that was exactly alike all the others and Griphook opened it to expose a small office.

The goblin took a seat behind the desk and as the goblin busied himself with pulling out stacks of folders, Harry closed the door to take a seat in front of it.

"First, a test of your identity," the goblin said, holding out a small flat stone. "Just swipe a finger down it and say your name."

Harry did so and the dark rock turned white briefly.

The goblin's expression turned even more sour and harrumphed again as he put the stone away.

"Fine. Now, as Sirius Black was the head of the Black House and as you are his sole inheritor, all his property and his debts are now transferred to you. First, we will begin with a list of debts before proceeding to the assets..."

Harry was shocked by the amounts of debts that had piled up. There was at least two hundred thousand galleons worth to various shops and retailers and he had never even dreamed of such a sum. He began to regret ever coming to Gringotts.

Griphook finished reading the distressingly long list and provided a copy to Harry, who looked at it with ill-concealed dismay.

"If you wish, Gringotts can assume your place in the will, along with all the debts. You need only sign this," the goblin cooed. Another piece of parchment was pushed towards him enticingly.

Harry hesitated. It was impossible to guess how long it was take him to repay such a large amount of money - never mind that he was still in school and would not earn an income until at least four years into the future. However, Harry had learned his lesson not to assume anything with goblins - including non-existent goblin generosity.

He stared at the goblin. Griphook's grin was full of teeth.

"First give me a list of all of the assets, including their worth."

The grin transformed into a grimace and he sulkily pulled the parchment back.

If Harry had been astonished by the debts that Sirius had accumulated, he was completely unprepared for the vast sums of gold and property that were to belong to him.

Two vaults in Gringotts (711 and 832), held millions of galleons with inestimable value in terms of family heirlooms and artefacts. There was also residential property in the form of mansions, townhouses, chateaus and cottages along with extensive lands dotting along all of Wizarding Britain and some countries in Europe. More than enough to make him one of the hundred richest wizards in Britain.

There was also a Wizengamot seat.

Harry was astounded.

First, a weight he had not realized lifted from his shoulders at the knowledge that he would never have to be burdened by debts or petty things like the cost of school supplies. As long has he managed the money and property well, he would only grow richer.

Second, he knew that he could put his assets and his political position to use to improve the lot of vampires in Great Britain. He could relocate them onto his private lands where they could live and recuperate their strength unmolested.

Third, he realized that he would never again have to return to Privet Drive. He sat back heavily in his chair. He would never again have to call that odious fake and her husband 'aunt' and 'uncle', or waste his summer as a slave, or _ever return to the Muggle world again_.

It was all enough to make him dizzy.

xxxxxxx

He learned that Sirius Black had been a friend of his parents in a letter the man had left him, which was short and polite. Apparently, Black had written the letter before going to defend his parents from Aurors. Unfortunately, the skirmish left his parents dead and Black arrested.

After settling Black's outstanding debts, Harry placed the Black House ring on his finger and signed papers to change his legal name - a condition written into the House's rules to ensure its continuation. The name had to be a previously used Black name (apparently a family tradition) and the family tree was pulled up for Harry to choose.

Some of the names were quite horrid (Phineas was perfectly awful but used at least twice) while others were too recent to be used again (apparently his benefactor had been Sirius Black the Third). In the end he decided on Orion, after Sirius' father, making him Orion Black the Second.

Griphook also produced a vial of blood, from some long dead Black, that he poured into Harry - no, _Orion's_ palm, where it was absorbed without a trace.

"It's necessary for any blood wards or magics. It also carries Black traits so any descendants you sire will have some measure of Black blood," Griphook said.

Orion nodded and immediately felt minor changes: his fluffy hair fell straighter, some bones creaked as they re-aligned themselves - shoulders more thin but wider, legs a little longer, feet a little narrower, the list went on - even his face wasn't spared. It was one of the oddest sensations of his life, he decided, to have one's nose and chin wiggle and grow a little pointier.

It was a fast and painless process and by the end of it, he desperately wanted a mirror to look at himself, but knew that the goblin would hardly be cooperative

His new house elf Kreacher - a particularly obsequious creature - was called to take copies of the documents back to his new Diagon Alley townhouse, number ten Grimmauld Place and to prepare it for his arrival. Thereupon, the goblin left rather unceremoniously and in a bad temper, which made Orion rather smug and made the experience of dealing with goblins almost entertaining.

He had a sack of galleons in a money pouch and left the small office to run some errands in Diagon Alley. He needed an owl, some robes that fit, a potion to correct his eyesight, books, he needed to summon Sanguini and tend to his properties, which Orion knew were in a state of neglect... he made a list as he walked.

He passed some wizards and goblins as he walked back along the long corridor, including one strikingly familiar face: Lord Voldemort.

It was all he could do to continue walking. Even at the other end of the hall, the man's magic was calm and controlled but nevertheless throbbed in the air around him, demanding obeisance. Something about it was familiar to him, but he brushed that thought aside - he was sure that they had never met before.

As they walked toward each other, the man's eyes flicked to him and one elegant eyebrow swept up. The corner of his mind that housed the connection that had been opened in the Chamber of Secrets, pulsed gently and warmly, like glow of a firefly. _At last we meet_ said a voice in his mind.

Orion nearly jerked in surprise. He had ignored that small part of his mind after it had formed and no prodding or probing had caused it to do something like _this_. This clearly had something to do with...

_Hello, Lord Voldemort_, he responded in kind, pushing his thoughts along through the connection in his head. The edge of the man's lips curled before he shifted his gaze away from Orion as he walked past.

As Orion was no longer the subject of the man's regard, the connection closed and Orion nearly sagged with the sudden passing. The corridor suddenly seemed darker and the air colder, making him shiver.

xxxxxxx

The next few days were a flurry for Orion and he had no time to think about his odd exchange with Lord Riddle* in Gringotts. He had never been busier in his life. He had bought an owl and named her Hedwig, after a witch from his textbooks.

He had not changed overmuch from the Black blood: his face was a bit pointier and finer and he was more willowy in build - but nothing too drastic in his eyes. He'd been measured for some plain but finely tailored lightweight and winterweight black, grey and dark blue robes as well as several undershirts, socks and boots. He also ordered several dress robes in case he needed to attend any formal events. After making some other purchases in the Alley he settled into his Diagon Alley townhouse, where the house elf was a wonder in making his life exceedingly comfortable.

Then, he'd got down to the business of understanding - in detail - his financial affairs. He soon realized that it would take more than himself alone to efficiently handle all the matters: restoring properties, renting out properties, leasing lands for various purposes, investing in family businesses - the list went on, and on.

Sanguini arrived the day he was summoned and slipped into the house at night. The other vampire had quirked his eyebrows at Orion's new appearance and he quickly brought Sanguini up to date.

After embracing him and feeling very glad to have him by his side once more, Orion quickly set him as a secretary to record, organize and file reams of parchment. Even with his help and benefiting from their vampiric ability to work hours on end, Orion quickly realized that he would need to hire several staff members in order to monitor, maintain and provide financial and operating reports on his various holdings on a more continual basis. At the very least, a lawyer, an accountant and a staff person was needed.

He broached the subject with Sanguini a day after his arrival.

"Yes, I agree. You will not be able to devote so much time to these things while in school and there are still lessons that you need to learn this summer - we need to hire tutors for you during the day, when I cannot be by your side." Sanguini paused. "Perhaps, it is time to start introducing you to some of the vampires that remain that were loyal to your family. Some of them also have the talents that you seek in law and other matters and will act very well as overseers of any wizards you employ and keep things honest."

Orion nodded. "I've been very much looking forward to meeting them, and it will be good to have another set of more experienced eyes keep watch over things. How will I meet them? And when? Also, what lessons should I take? I haven't started on my summer homework yet, though I don't expect that to take too long."

"At the very least you'll need tutors for etiquette and dance and Latin and magic, of course. As for your court - I have maintained loose contact with many of them and they will be overjoyed to meet you. The three noble houses of Blodd, Graves and Selwynn have managed to avoid destruction and you shall meet all three this summer. But first I shall introduce to you some lesser vampires and engage your wizarding tutors, lawyers and staff."

Orion looked at him quizzically, "Why must I wait?"

Sanguini smiled at him, "Although you are more proficient at exercising your Will on me, you have not yet done so on others. And though I am very biddable -"

Orion snorted and teased, "You'd make an excellent wife."

"- _very_ biddable," Sanguini said with a roll of his eyes, "you have never had practice controlling a powerful vampire who resisted your will. Nor in holding many vampires in your mind at once."

Orion sobered. He clearly remembered Sanguini warning him about the duality of vampires. As much as they would revere him, a baser part of them wanted to rip into him for his blood. It would be his responsibility to keep a firm grasp on their minds to govern them and prevent their base natures from overruling their minds.

He thinned his lips. This is where all his ancestors failed, to the detriment of all.

He would not fail.

* * *

* Lord Riddle and Lord Voldemort and Voldemort are used interchangeably by the public and the press to refer to Tom Riddle. Riddle is his family name and Voldemort is a well known title.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay in updating. Real life and lack of interest are very potent at killing writing. I don't think I can promise to finish this story, but I'll give it a good try.

Harry - oops! Orion, will have a great deal to do over the summer before he goes back to school for fourth year. Until next time! Reviews are always welcome and fuel typing fingers ;)


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